


Partners [Path Unlocked]

by Delia_Maguire



Series: Recovery //Reverse AU Shorts// [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Addiction, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Amanda (Detroit: Become Human) Being an Asshole, Android Hank Anderson, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Case, Caffeine Addiction, Cigarettes, Coffee, Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) is Bad at Feelings, Connor Deserves Happiness, Detectives, Eating Disorders, Eden Club (Detroit: Become Human), Elijah Kamski Being an Asshole, Falling In Love, Gavin Reed Being an Asshole, Hank Anderson is Bad at Feelings, Human Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Human Trafficking, Insomnia, M/M, Minor Character Death, Overdosing, Past Character Death, Protectiveness, Role Reversal, Sex Club, Slow Burn, Smoking, Snark, Substance Abuse, Suicide Attempt, Trauma, Undercover, Upgraded Connor | RK900 Has a Different Name
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-06-18 23:51:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 37
Words: 107,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15497619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delia_Maguire/pseuds/Delia_Maguire
Summary: HK800’s sole purpose is to hunt down and exterminate deviant androids before they become an actual threat to the human race. Cold, unfeeling, and entirely unalive, the android is determined to complete his mission and will allow nothing to stand in his way.However, when paired with human detective, Connor Anderson, HK800’s mission is compromised, not only by his partner’s impressive ability to get in the way, but also the rising instability plaguing his system.





	1. Hindrance

The number of androids becoming deviant was skyrocketing. The machines rebelling against their masters and turning on those who built them were multiplying by the day with the threat of an actual uprising only becoming more realistic by the hour. What was once a crazy fantasy babbled by old anti-android loons who feared doomsday would soon fall upon the world in vengance for creating the hodgepodge semblance of life in metal and plastic was now an impending reality. The android uprising was a real and truly terrifying threat.

The newly advanced Hunt-Kill model android, shortened to HK800 for convenience sake (And likely to lessen the number of nightmares such a title gave), was designed to locate these malfunctioning machines and terminate them before they became a threat to humanity or, more importantly, Cyberlife’s reputation. The creation was a prototype, designed specifically for this mission and well equipped to carry it out however its million dollar processing system deemed necessary. Cold, unfeeling, and wholeheartedly unalive, the android was designed to succeed where all else failed.

HK800 was well aware of this, the information ever present in his endless memory storage unit and accessible to him in a moment’s notice along with any other knowledge pooled into the entirety of the web, giving the android access to virtually all human knowledge in a millisecond’s time. What the police prototype did not know, however, was why he was still standing in front of an annoying person-less desk at half past noon.

Despite Cyberlife’s boundless assurances that HK800 could handle itself, the Captain of the force, one Amanda Stern, had insisted that she had no desire for a masterless android to be running amuck in her department so, per the woman’s request, the prototype was assigned a human companion to look over the investigation. A “partner” on paper but cataloged as nothing but a ticket into android free zones in HK800’s data storage.

However, the android was quite near considering changing this previous title to “Hindrance” as the prototype police model was currently standing stiff legged staring at an empty chair alongside a messy desk in the middle of the bustling Detroit Police Department as if simply glaring at the piece of furniture hard enough would cause it to bend under his will and call forth the human who was supposed to have sat in it four hours ago. Four hours. That’s how long HK800 had been in this goddamned police department with not a single sign of a Detective Connor Anderson to show for it.

HK800 had been running searches to gather research on the absent person since his Cyberlife handler - an AI by the name of Jeffrey who must have some sort of design flaw because no one in their right mind would ever purposely program such a goddamn prick - had given him the name. A few quick Google searches had brought forth the knowledge that Detective Anderson played a key role in the breakup of the rapidly mounting party scene and was solely responsible for infiltrating and exposing Eden Club, previously the biggest party joint in town, for the underground hub of dirty deals and dark secrets it truly was.

As thirium was introduced to the world, newer, better drugs with a stronger high and an even stronger crash to match were produced by the bucket loads and the underground industry had been thriving. However, this increase led to a sudden influx of crime on the party scene, quickly shifting the scale from minor vandalism and occasional overdoses to cartels and homicides. Detroit had been a mess but; under Detective Anderson’s crafty direction, the city had since been cleaned up immensely. At least you could walk outside without seeing someone shoot up on the street corner nowadays.

Hitherto, HK800 had cataloged this as the most noteworthy thing about the man he was supposedly assigned to act as a partner to but the android since bumped the knowledge down on his list to prioritize the new found discovery that the famed detective was, in no one’s book, punctual.

“What time should I expect Detective Anderson to arrive?” The police model prototype abruptly posed the sudden inquisition to the nearest human in his vicinity, a man of African descent who set off no immediate warnings in the android’s processing system and continued to show no signs of hostility as he turned to glance back in the machine’s direction.

“Ah man, we’ll be lucky if we see Connor before tomorrow.” The man scoffed lightly, his voice far higher pitched than the deep tones HK800 had been expecting as the guy shook his head almost sympathetically and an apologetic smile tugged gently at the right corner of his full lips. “If he ain’t in by noon, he’s probably not coming.” The guy explained, likely urged to elaborate by the befuddled frown HK800 felt his lips tug down into, having been programmed to express a reflection of emotion to better meld with humans even if the android himself were incapable of feeling any such thing.

“Thank you.” HK800 dismissed the man politely, letting his LED pulse yellow a moment as his processors ran a brief facial scan of the policeman and identified him as Chris Miller - Husband to Elina Miller and father to one child, a Damian Miller, no crime record to speak of, and, now, “non-hostile” under HK800’s relations data.

“Have you tried calling him?” Chris suggested helpfully, obviously trying to aid the android as the man was actually already beginning to reach for his own phone lying on the edge of his desk, which HK800 had to note was immeasurably more well-organized than Connor’s. “Connors a lazy bum but he’s an alright guy. If he knows someone’s waiting for him, he’ll probably show.” The policeman explained his reasoning with a light shrug, seeming more amused by his coworker’s inability to show up to work than anything else.

“I contacted his cell through the station’s phone upon arrival.” HK800 confirmed professionally, his voice as flat and emotionless as ever even in the face of Chris’s casual attitude and laid back view of the situation. To the android, Detective Anderson failing to show up entirely was no excusable matter as it was the machine’s soul purpose to solve this case and the fact that this unreliable human was already slowing that process officially sealed the detective's fate in HK800’s eyes. The android officially was no longer tempted to label the detective as “Hindrance” in his relations data but was actually doing so.

_Jeffrey Fowler: Trusted_

_Chris Miller: Non-Hostile_

_Connor Anderson:_ _Hindrance_

“Ah, waste of time.” Chris dismissed the new piece of information with af offhanded wave. “Connor won’t answer the station number when he’s off. Gimme one sec, I’ll call him.” The policeman offered, plucking his phone from where it still sat at the edge of his desk and listlessly beginning to poke at a few buttons with what could only be well-practiced routine before HK800 could even get out his preprogrammed gratitudinal response.

“Thank you.” The android still offered despite the fact that Chris was already bringing the phone to his ear and likely wasn’t listening to anything in the police station anymore. A dial tone sounded lightly through the relative silence that succeeded the conversation, the only other sound besides the constant thrum of soft background noise pulsing through the bustling police department. The gurgle of coffee being poured and the hiss of steam that came with it. A woman giddily whispering about her girlfriend finally popping the question followed by hushed aws and congradulations. The pointed buzz of a hand scanner denying an unaccompanied android access to a sideroom before a more pleasant sounding beep indicated a human had joined the wayward droid.

The sound of the line being picked up could barely be heard before HK800 blinked his stormy blue eyes once and tapped into the call, toning out the world around him as mere whitenoise in the shadows as he pulled the electronic device’s audio into his own head and put it at the foreground of his attention. Usually, the android would refrain from such behavior as he was well aware most humans would consider such a thing rude but all the internet had to offer the police prototype on his unwanted accomplice was that Detective Anderson was good at his job when he actually showed up to it - Not much information to form a “partnership” on, which HK800 should probably do if he wanted to ensure their investigation ran as smoothly as possible.

_Form Partnership With Connor_

_→ Learn more about Connor_

The side mission presented itself in the corner of HK800’s vision, a translucent gray square with bold white text printed across it in Cyberlife Sans and the android categorized the task just below his primary mission, a subsect of the investigation the machine would strive to achieve but would never prioritize over his main goal.

“Hello..?” A groggy voice groaned tiredly through Chris’s phone, light and lilting even through the thick syrup of mumbled exhaustion that nearly smothered the word out entirely, Detective Anderson's voice sticky with sleep and dragging on every syllable.

“Were you seriously sleeping?” Chris snorted sharply, shaking his head exasperatedly and rolling his dark eyes heavily toward the back of his skull despite the fact that Connor obviously could see neither of these pointed gestures.

“Yes.” The freshly woken detective grumbled in a practically miffed tone, Detective Anderson apparently too disoriented with the haze of sleep to understand such a complex concept as rhetorical questions at the moment.

“Connor, it’s half past noon!” Chris groaned heavily, throwing an annoyed hand against his forehead with a smack loud enough even Connor had to be able to hear it before dragging the limb slowly down his face to stretch the malleable skin there with a moan of utter disappointment.

“Your point being?” Connor inquired snarkily; but all the jibe elicited from Chris was a sharp snort that somehow managed to sound as friendly as it did chiding. “Look, Chris, I didn’t sleep well last night. I’m tired.” The detective went on, the utter exhaustion clinging to every moaned word leaving no doubt that the statement was entirely true. “Please lemme go back to sleep, man.” Anderson finally finished with a hint of begging making his already lilting voice waiver into whiny territory as his friend merely sighed out a heavy breath of air in response.

“No, dude, you gotta come in.” Chris insisted far more gently than HK800 would've, ripping an absolutely miserable groan of protest from Connor’s mouth that the android could’ve heard even had he not been tapped into the call itself as Chris pulled the phone away from his ear with a disgruntled grimace. “You’ve got a silver fox waiting for you.” The policeman offered cheekily, pausing to cast a quick glance back at HK800 only to shoot the machine a awkward smile upon finding the android’s gaze upon him as he moved the electronic communications device back towards its normal position; but the man inherently had no need to perform the miniscule action of bringing the phone back to his ear… HK800 had never heard anyone hang up a phone so fast.

“He’s on his way.” Chris merrily informed the android, turning back to shoot the machine an almost victorious looking smile as he spoke and placed his phone back on his desk.


	2. Miscalculations

With the knowledge that Connor was now actually on his way instead of laying in bed with no real intent of moving from there anytime soon, HK800 was easily able to calculate the distance between the DPD and where his databases informed him Detective Anderson resided and approximate how much time he was allotted before the human’s expected arrival. According to his calculations, which were never wrong, the android had 27 minutes to wait before he could finally get on with the actual investigation.

While, hitherto, the only objective in HK800’s program had been  _ Eliminate Deviancy  _ the android had since given himself the secondary quest of _ Form Partnership With Connor  _ and under that, of course, the smaller task  _ Learn More About Connor. _ With these new occupiers to busy himself with, HK800 decided to use all of his remaining time, now 26.43 minutes, to the utmost in an attempt to meet these new requirements. Which is why the android felt it would be beneficial to scan over the ungodly mess that was Connor’s desk, even if looking at the haphazard array of useless junk and scattered papers thrown hither and thither as if the detective had mistaken them for confetti rather than important documents made the machine cringe.  

Masses of crudely stuffed files dominated the scene, the pale yellow folders thrown carelessly over every available inch of surface space and all overflowing with far too many papers shoved messily into their insufficient confines so that court documents and case reports stuck out at every corner like an unbeatable game of whack-a-mole. The folder that currently played king of the hill over the rest of the paper junkyard, however, was surprisingly slim in comparison, only holding what could be no more than three or four sheets of paper within its bowels rather than the apparent novels the rest of the folders were suffocating under the weight of. 

HK800 glanced a quick eye about the room to ensure than nobody was glancing his way, waiting a brief moment until a small, green check of approval pinged into the left hand corner of his vision and his rapid scan delivered a negative result before flicking the folder open. 

The first paper in the folder was, as one might expect, a description of a suspect; in this instance, a deviant PL600 owned by the Phillips family. The suspect was registered under the name of Daniel; but what caught HK800’s attention was not necessarily the actual information about a case he held no connection to, but rather the fact that the word “Damn” had been scribbled over the android’s given name in a messy Sharpie scrawl and - far worse than that - the sentence “Back at it again with the white kids” had been doodled underneath the name as well. 

Jesus Christ, was this really the shit HK800 was going to have to deal with? At least the same sloppy handwriting then went on to jot a few actually pertinent notes about the suspect and its relation to a girl apparently taken hostage, an Emma Phillips, who HK800’s automatic information scan confidently informed the android was still alive and well before the machine even flipped through the rest of the folder. The sloppy Sharpie scrawl shorthanded the date as Aug, 15. 2038. Followed by a scribbly 7:52 in which the tail of the last number jerked sideways in a long streak as if the writer had already been up and moving by the time they finished the notes. 

Taking this all in, the android leafed through the remaining few sheets of paper a lot quicker, finding little hand scrawled text on the next few pages he rifled over and only being provided with a bare bones description of the actual negotiation and preceding investigation, the pages filled with uninformative facts such as Detective Anderson arrives: 8:29 and Detective Anderson discovers PL600 was going to be replaced: 8:38. (Though this fact at least had the words EMOTIONAL SHOCK written alongside it in bold but sloppy sharpie marks) Though, even the short, objective notes obviously typed by someone uninvolved with the whole situation, probably from much higher up than the detective himself or anyone else actually sent onto the field, clearly detailed Connor Anderson’s preferred methods in crystal clarity and HK800 eagerly filed the potentially useful bit of knowledge away for later use.

Connor gathered as much information as humanly possible, analyzing the smallest detail of a crime scene to piece together an elaborate picture of what happened down to the minutest detail. Sure, the procedure might be tedious, but it was an effective method no doubt and even the final page of this folder clearly detailed Anderson’s success in using this information to talk the unstable deviant down. However, HK800 knew the particular style had the potential to be as much a detriment as it did a saving grace, often slowing things down and hinging entire missions on gathering a single piece of information when simple brutal force could bring things to a messy but efficient end in minutes. The android would not go so far as to label Connor’s methods as good or bad but they were undoubtedly something to be aware of in their own investigation.

However, besides the clear cut information detailing how Anderson had convinced the deviant to release the hostage and how the PL600  had been quickly terminated soon after; there was yet another message from the sloppy scribbler, though their heavy handed scrawl was now far less large and rushed, as if the writer had somehow been subdued since their last message and their text alone seemed determined to convey the death of their earlier enthusiasm. Directly following the professional text reading “Deviant executed by sniper 47 from far roof by single shot to left side of skull” was noted in a small, Sharpie scrawl, “even though I had it under control.”

On the left side of the paper, however, a new slim lined, red inked pen joined the conversation and vicariously brought it to a quick and painless end with a simple “I must ask that you refrain from doodling on case files.” The font was much neater than Connor’s handwriting, perfectly inlined text formed from impossibly straight lines with not a single jitter or shake to speak for in its impeccable precision.

“Sorry, Amanda. It won’t happen again!” Was incredibly ironically noted in the right hand corner, the apologetic text even followed by a frowny face just in case there were a few remaining dregs of professionalism still desperately clinging on that needed to be taught a lesson they wouldn’t soon forget. 

HK800’s internal timer informed the android 16.83 minutes yet remained to complete his investigation and tick off the mini task of “Learn More About Connor” by the time the android finally thumbed back through the papers for a final scan and flicked the folder shut so that no one would be any the wiser. The mechanical man proceeded to let his eyes rove over the rest of the hideous mess of a desk for anything else of note that may aid him in his quest to earn the detective’s trust but barely anything dared try and fight back against the overwhelming tyranny of the piling folders and their unbested army of crumpled documents. It looked like something out of an OCD man’s worst nightmare. 

A silent reminder to never trust Connor to store important papers formed in the android’s head and filed itself away in the machine’s boundless memory as HK800 took in what he could through the ocean of murdered trees, objectively noting that nearly every free inch of desk not dominated by paper held a drained mug with only a vague brown stain marring the ceramic inner edges as well as the smooth rim and a tiny pool of abandoned dregs left to rest at the bottom of the cup to speak for what the forgotten items had once held. 

HK800 dipped two experimental fingers past the rim of the nearest mug, the ceramic surface of the cup painted pure black save for where the sleek darkness was disturbed by three white lines printed on either side of a pink upside down triangle in the center of the cup’s front. Paired with the discovery that the rim of the odd mug was sculpted into two points, the item was likely mimicking the face of a cat. (A stark contrast to the cup right beside it which read UNT in bold, black lettering across the front, carefully positioned precisely alongside the huge curving black handle of the thing that looked suspiciously like a C.)

The android touched the pads of his digits lightly to the dark pool of black liquid resting at the bottom of the cat cup, lightly wetting the very tips of his fingers with the unknown substance before pulling them back from the dark recesses of the corny mug and bringing them to his lips. HK800 flicked his tongue free from the confines of his mouth, sliding the synthetic muscle over his lips and and brushing it gently over the dark stained pads of his fingers to expose the unnamed liquid to his oral sensors, his processors working instantaneously to assess the new substance the moment they were presented with it. 

A gratuitous amount of the chemical C8H10N4O2, commonly referred to under the well known name of caffeine, quickly brought forth the conclusion that the substance was, in fact, coffee as one might expect. Black, unsweetened and unadulterated coffee, to be exact, with no softening substance daring to even think of standing up to the overbearing bitter strength of the beverage.

_ Connor likes his coffee black,  _ A small notification formed in HK800’s head, the android filing it away in an incredibly small, practically insignificant section of memory the android walled off and labeled  _ Connor Anderson _ to be accessed if ever relevant. Hey, at least the machine was beginning to learn something more positive than the only other solid fact stored in that minuscule chunk of  memory: _ “Connor is lazy.” _

Aside from the plethora of coffee cups which amounted to far more than any normal human being could ever have use for in the span of their natural life according to HK800’s statistical data, the only other personal item existing on the messy desk was a sleek, black, ceramic ashtray half full of graying ashes and snuffed cigarette butts beginning to pile close to the brim of the container. This information immediately brought up a red notification in HK800’s vision, the translucent crimson square pointedly informing the android that smoking indoors was a breach of company policy and constituted a violation that should be reported.

HK800 swiped the obtrusive notification away with a sharp blink of his eyes, decidedly ignoring the prompt to report the misdemeanor as his programming debated with itself for a moment before coming to the conclusion doing so would be detrimental to the secondary mission of  _ Form Partnership With Connor  _ and it was in the android’s greater interest to pursue that task relevant to his primary mission rather than follow his normal protocol of reporting any noted illegal or rule breaking activities he encountered as all androids were programmed to do. Spy bots, some called them. Peacekeepers, said others. Neither name effected HK800 in the slightest. 

_ Connor smokes, _ got filed away in the newly formed  _ Connor Anderson _ section of the android’s memory before the mechanical man extended a quick hand and lifted the ashtray away to reveal some previously obstructed markings marring a paper that had rested half underneath the weighty item. The ink stains that appeared to be nothing more than cut off streaks before proved no more useful to the electronic policeman now than they did a moment ago when nearly invisible under Connor’s ashtray as all the paper turned out to be was a printed out game of Sudoku.

The numbered board was only half solved but was scribbled angrily over with thick, lashing lines so that very little of what was once written there was visible now. Still though, HK800 was able to identify exactly where the player had made a mistake through the sprawling lines of ink blotting out the game board, though it wasn’t truly very difficult when two number fours in the same line were circled exactly 37 times. Nor was it all that difficult to quickly run through the given information and determine exactly where all the numbers should be placed to secure a successful game. 

However, when the android thoughtfully turned the paper over, the exact same Sudoku board was there, obviously painstakingly redrawn by hand as the lines were far from perfect and wavered where they crossed clumsily over one another in a shoddy excuse for the perfect grid they were attempting to replicate. The same numbers that had been given on the original playing board were still in their proper locations, though they were now surrounded by the correct numbers in the precise pattern HK800 had determined was needed. The android could pull no information from this discovery, but was disposed to assume the behavior spoke for some complex facet of Detective Anderson’s personality the machine hadn’t quite been programmed to comprehend.

The police prototype returned the Sudoku board to its original location and placed the ashtray back atop it as it had been before he’d moved it, leaving any evidence of his snooping invisible to the human eye and undetectable by any who may gaze upon the scene. The only other thing left unanalyzed on the overcrowded desk was the customary, company given, wide screened monitor currently presenting nothing more than a black screen as it sat untouched in a power saving sleep mode, reflecting back the world outside in its shut down screen like an emo mirror trying goth makeup for the first time and going far too heavy on the dark shades.

Despite the overall shadiness of the slightly blurred reflection, HK800 could easily make out his own aged features in the screens reflective depths, his synthetic skin pulled a tad bit loose to give the impression of the beginnings of wrinkles starting to tug at his face and gray haired beard decorating the lower half of his face, coming down past his chin but never going much farther than that. The android’s fabricated hair was dyed a shimmering silver that glinted brilliantly in the fluorescent light of the police department even as it was pulled back into a short ponytail at the back of the machine’s head, spiking valiantly out of the small hair tie but never falling from the tight, sleek pull of the thing.

HK800 made to move the mouse sitting upon one of the few empty spaces valiantly fighting for their life against the papers and coffee mugs determined to rule over all, briefly assessing the remaining time before Connor arrived to be approximately 10.2 minutes and calculating that the computer would have time to go back to sleep and hide any evidence of his medlings before Anderson showed up. The android twitched his finger briefly over the mouse, giving it the slightest jolt and bringing the screen blazing to life in a brilliant display of color that only looked all the more vibrant when contrasted with the pure, dead blackness that had existed there mere moments ago.

“10 hour Rick Roll!1!11!!!!” Read the Youtube video left open on the screen… HK800 should’ve left it at that. 

But, despite being a wonder of technology with the processing power of a billion smartphones compiled into one body, HK800 decided it would be a good idea to press play, too intent on completing his given task of learning more about the absent detective to consider what the consequences of his action might actually be. Calculations in consideration, playing the video had a high probability (75.3% to be exact) of being a good opportunity to learn more about Connor, maybe give the android some insight on the man’s interests and tastes.

It was, in short, a shit decision. 

“Never gonna give you up!” Blared deafeningly from the computer at full volume, blasting through all the hushed conversations and minimal sounds of an office at work to shatter any semblance of quietness that had once existed there with a single fell swoop. The android frantically slammed his pointer finger roughly into the clicker of the mouse, the sleek plastic clacking angrily down in response to his touch and silencing the video before it could go on but it was already far too late.

Every eye in the office turned to gaze at the HK800 model android, some inquisitive, a few rarities actually bemused with a touch of sympathy (Chris Miller),  but most just wearing a bored look of scornful disapproval. The robot’s LED flickered red for a flash of a moment before cycling to yellow a pace and slowly reverting back to his usual stoic blue as the machine dropped his gaze and retreated a pace back from the horrendous computer, pausing to send it a pointed glare for all it had done to him. If HK800 had been human, he was sure he would’ve been embarrassed,; but as it was, all the prototype felt was a sharp pang of disapproval for his own thoughtlessness. 

“Well, I see someone fell into my Rick Roll trap.” An amused chuckle sounded from behind the android, the voice vaguely familiar in the way it lilted through the man’s sentence and carried a certain lightness to it on every word… 

HK800 was just full of miscalculations today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who left me such awesome comments ~ I really appreciate the encouragement :)


	3. Name Registered: Hank

HK800 whipped around so quickly he likely would’ve given himself whiplash had he been human, the android's sharp gaze instantly falling on a man standing a few paces back from him whose face twisted in a bemused half smile when his chocolate brown orbs met those crystal blue ones of the machine, the guy’s soft pink tinged lips tugged up at the left corner alone while the rest of his mouth contorted into a wry smirk. 

The man looked to stand at just a little over five and a half feet, gazing up with his head tilted back ever so slightly to meet the android’s gaze even as they stood a few feet apart. His features were soft, pale skin melding smoothly over full cheeks to contrast perfectly against warm coffee orbs that remained large and doe-like even as the guy’s lips twitched a bit higher in an almost teasing sort of smirk. The man’s unstyled hair was as brown as his eyes and as soft as his delicate features, medium length locks curling wildly as a large section of wayward strands fell into his face on one side though they still managed to frame his features as if they belonged there despite the fact that it appeared as if the guy had barely bothered to run a brush through the chocolate locks.

Contrary to popular belief that one should strive to dress professionally when heading to the workplace - especially in a police department where there were probably oh, I don’t know, uniforms, like everyone else in the department was sporting, one was expected to wear - the man had apparently decided this information was all fake news. The guy was sporting an oversized coat of sorts that looked well beyond its time with dark stains marring the once warm brown fabric in countless places and tan threads dangling from every discernable edge of the trashed thing. 

Large triangle lapels stuck out to form the beginnings of a collar before trailing down to edge where the front of the garment was left to casually hang open, revealing a white button up undershirt that was at least in better condition than the aging jacket. Though any semblance of professionalism the neat shirt might’ve won for the outfit was negated by the haphazardly done tie that was, in no way, shape or form, no matter how hard you squinted, done in a fashion one could call correct, the item loose on the man’s collar and twisted about itself in such a way that the whole thing somewhat resembled a cultic snake orgy. 

Paired with the poor excuse for a tie job and the fact that the man’s chest was rising and falling a beat too heavy to be considered normal, the realization that the guy’s soft face was flushed slightly to color his full cheeks a light pink, HK800 was easily able to identify why his calculations had been botched. The android had failed to account for Detective Anderson rushing. 

“My apologies.” HK800 offered evenly, ducking his head slightly in an apologetic display before straightening back up to place both hands behind his back, large digits of one limb wrapping lightly around the wrist of the other. 

“Don’t kill yourself over it.” Connor dismissed flippantly, waving an unbothered hand in front of himself before lowering it to jam both hands casually into the large pockets of his overcoat, the slim limbs all but disappearing in the deep folds of the fabric. “I mean, that is kinda exactly what I set it up for,” The guy went on smoothly, his lilting voice rising and falling over the words like soft waves ebbing at the seashore. “Though, I gotta say, I was kinda expecting Gavin to be the one to fall victim to my cunning snare.” The man noted with a slight chuckle, then shrugged his slender shoulders in a quick upwards jerk before letting them roll smoothly back into their normal position, as if to dismiss the whole conversation with that simple gesture. 

“Detective Anderson, I presume?“ HK800 inquired evenly despite the fact that a rapid facial scan indicated the accuracy of this assumption -  _ Anderson, Connor. Date of Birth: May, 25. 2006. Criminal record: Various minor noise complaints, the last reported November, 2025. _  The android was eager to move on the moment apologies were officially out of the way and the machine was assured his side mission of  _ Form Partnership With Connor _ hadn’t been compromised, HK800 impatient to actually get on with his mission now that the man he was supposed to be working with had finally arrived and pressed to get formalities out of the way. 

“In the flesh.” Connor replied easily, though the words were stretched around a tired yawn as the guy drug his hands from where they’d rested in his pockets for all of about two seconds to spread his arms out wide as if proudly presenting himself for all the world to gawk at. “And you must be the man of my dreams.” The detective jested lightly, shooting the android a beaming grin and actually going so far as to throw  the robot a quick pair of finger guns with a overexaggerated wink as Chris Miller groaned exasperatedly somewhere in the background. 

“I am not a man, Detective.” HK800 pointed out stoically, more confused than anything by what his sensors couldn’t quite distinguish as a joke or a flirt. “I am a machine, designed to look like a human in order to better meld with those who I am built to serve.” The android elaborated evenly, the well practiced response falling from his lips as easily as his artificial breath, the hot ghosts of dry air billowing up through his mechanical throat every few seconds entirely unnecessary but a constant background process designed to make him appear more realistic and integrate more smoothly into daily life.

“Yeah, Sorry. Just ignore it when shit like that comes outta my mouth.” Connor replied with a slightly uncomfortable chuckle that sounded far too forced for even a human without all of HK800’s high tech sensors to mistake it for genuine, the man bringing his left arm over his body so that he could finger his right sleeve as he spoke. The detective’s long digits tugged gently but persistently at the wayward threads dangling there, twisting about the material purposelessly for a brief moment before uncurling again only to repeat the process once more a second later. At least now HK800 knew why the poor jacket was in such bad shape.

“On that note though, what is your name?” Connor questioned curiously after a moment, “‘Cause right now I’m just calling you Bear Bot in my head and that feels pretty damn rude.” The detective tacked on as an afterthought, shifting about slightly and running a hand through the curling locks cascading over his forehead as his gaze fixed on some random point on the title floor, the man apparently very interested in a particular speck of dirt all of the sudden. 

“I am HK800, eighth model of the Hunt-Kill series and the first functional prototype of my line.” The android railed off professionally, straightening up a bit taller as the words tumbled from his lips but Detective Anderson merely shook his head and waved a dismissive hand in front of his face.

“Hunt-Kill, huh?” Connor repeated awkwardly, leaning back on his heels as he spoke and glancing behind himself at nothing in particular. “Well, doesn’t that just sound like a whole lot of fun." Connor commented slowly and his body gave a small shudder visible even from where HK800 stood a few paces away but the detective shook the reaction off as quickly as it had come. “But what about your  _ name?”  _ The man tried again, emphasizing the last word despite the fact that the android had heard him perfectly well the first time.

“I’m sorry, Detective. I am not pre-programmed with a human name.” HK800 replied evenly, blinking slowly at the befuddled frown that played across Detective Anderson’s features as the android spoke. “I can register one if that is preferable to you.” The robot offered after a moment, taking in the lingering downward tug of his human companion’s lips and coming to the conclusion that his lack of a proper name was something that discomforted the detective in some way. 

“Uh,” Is all Detective Anderson managed to come up with initially, eyes widening slightly as they flew up from the floor to lock with the machine’s, as if the detective were taken aback by the proposition. “Yeah. Sure. Um, good. Do that.” Connor eventually managed to go on to say, the fingers of one hand now rhythmically running along the hem of his jacket as the man dug his teeth lightly into his lower lip and rolled the pink flesh there gently about. 

“Fine.” HK800 commented blankly, his LED flickering yellow for a flash of a moment as the android brought up the necessary program needed to assign himself a title and flicked through the preliminary processes. “What name would you like to register?” The android inquired evenly after a moment, the light on the side of his head now pulsing a slow but continuous pale yellow in indication of awaiting an answer. 

“You want me to choose?” Connor balked confusedly, jamming his hands back into his large pockets once more and shifting his weight to one foot only to switch his mass back to the other limb a few moments later. ( _ Connor is restless  _ filed itself neatly away.) “Listen, I’m flattered, but I’m really not a guy you want making decisions for you.” The detective explained hurriedly, seemingly genuinely concerned at this sudden turn of events as his hands made a grand reappearance from his pocket to hold themselves out in front of the detective’s body, palms facing the robot as if trying to deter him from any course of action that would lead to responsibility being placed on Detective Anderson.

“I am an android, Detective.” HK800 pointed out stoically, never once wavering in his cold resolve or bowing from his place of high professionalism. “I have no preference in the matter, nor any other matter. Desire is not one of my protocols.” The android informed clinically, staring blankly into the mildly confused brown orbs blinking almost questioningly at him, as if Detective Anderson didn’t quite know exactly how to respond. A name was a useless piece of pointless data that served no constructive purpose and would be erased from the machine’s memory with all the rest of the information from the case once it was solved and he was sent back to Cyberlife to be reset for the next mission. HK800 could care less about the matter. 

“Yeah, okay. “ Connor finally relented with a soft perturbed huff, shaking his head slightly before straightening up and crossing his lank arms thoughtfully over his chest, actually going so far as to give a quiet hum of concentration as he eyed the glowing series of identifying letters and numbers printed across the right breast of HK800’s suit jacket critically, as if they would whisper to him the answer if the detective simply eye raped them long enough.

“Hunter is far too cliché.” Detective Anderson began, narrowing his coffee eyes a touch farther and bringing a hand up to rub slightly at his chin. “And Killer makes you sound like a dog.” The man went on softly, seeming to be talking to himself more than the actual android in question as the detective cocked his head slightly to the side and blinked thoughtfully. “HK.” The guy mumbled quietly, repeating the letters over again a few times in a hushed whisper before a look of clarity finally dashed into his tired eyes to brighten their chocolate depths with a keen glimmer. 

“Hank.” Connor finally concluded with a solid nod, grinning cheekily to himself as if proud that he’d somehow twisted the grim initials into an actual name. However, the detective’s eyes then widened a centimeter more, his mouth falling open slightly as an excited grin split across his face. “Hanky Panky!” Anderson eagerly declared, the words choked through a muffled snort of amusement as his pale cheeks twinged pink with the choked laughter the guy was doing an absolutely shitty job of keeping smothered as chopped snickers burst through the detective’s lips even as he brought up a hand to cover the sounds.

“Just Hank will do fine, Detective.” The android nearly sighed but managed to even his voice out at the last minute, forcing the words to come out with the objective professionalism he was expected to present even in the face of such utter ridiculousness. The machine had been right to place Anderson as “Hindrance” in his memory, the guy was already gunning for the rank of most annoying individual the robot had ever encountered and was keeping first place by a mile. 

“Ah, you’re no fun.” Connor huffed out disappointedly though an amused smile still tugged determinedly at his pink lips before it was all brought to a halt by a quiet-piercing, sharp call bellowing through the hushed police station.

“Connor, in my office! Now!” A woman’s voice shattered through the whispered conversation and light, ever present, noise of the DPD, the call booming forth from the slightly pushed open door of the glass office positioned front and center of all the bustle. 

“Coming, Amanda!” Connor called back quickly, any lingering humor that had clung to the man washed away in a single instance as the guy straightened himself upright and steeled his face, taming his previously soft and gentle smile into a hard line of business as the detective made for the office, the android assigned to be his partner hot on his heels. 

_ Name Registered: Hank _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your continued support and wonderful comments ~ You guys are the best :)


	4. The Assignment

Amanda Stern was a justly named woman from what HK800 - Well, Hank now, he supposed - could gather as he entered the moderately sized, glass office and pulled the large see-through door shut behind him, though why anyone would design a private office with crystal clear glass windows for walls, the android would never know. Privacy was apparently not in the department’s dictionary. 

Not that the glass walls had anything to hide. The room was frugally decorated, only two file cabinets stationed in the far corners of the office to speak for wall cover and nothing but the large desk situated in the center of the empty area to stake claim on the unused floor space. A small television hung from a metal arm of sorts lowering down from the ceiling just against the wall running longways undisturbed by the glass doors, the station tuned to the news channel where a blonde woman was speaking. 

Amanda sat with a straight backed posture to rival that of an android, her hands clasped neatly before her atop her desk where only a single pale blue vase housing an individual rose was left to cover the sleek, white surface, her scarlet nail polish catching the cold, white lights poised along the ceiling and reflecting the sheen back with vicious strength. With black box braids dotted throughout with brief segments of robin egg blue and a dash of purple here and there styled neatly into a tight french twist, the police captain wore a simplistic black dress suit with little to accentuate it save for a white drape tossed stylistically across her left shoulder and a large necklace composed of a few dozen cubes of varying sizes threaded together in a geometric array with a matching bracelet of similar make wrapped about her right wrist. 

Captain Stern’s face was not twisted into a scowl of anger nor were her gloss stained lips pulled downwards in an obvious frown, there was absolutely nothing dramatic or emotional about the way she regarded Connor as he moved across the room and slowly lowered himself into the white padded chair poised across from her on the near side of the pristine desk. However, somehow the slight, barely discernible glint of disapproval in her eyes as she scowled down at the man who lowered slightly under her cold gaze seemed far worse. 

“This is the third time you’ve been late to work this week, Connor.” Captain Stern spoke coolly, her flowing voice carefully measured in an emotionless tone that gave absolutely nothing away.

“I’m sorry, Amanda.” Is all Connor had to offer, the detective keeping his gaze locked firmly downwards and his head slightly ducked so his curling hair fell over his face and almost obstructing his soft features from where Hank stood unobtrusively at the far wall, head held high and hands clasped behind his back in silent observation. 

“Is there something bothering you, Connor?” The police captain prompted, softening her voice some and extending a hand to gently brush away the wayward hair fallen over the detective's face, causing him to slowly pull his gaze back up from the floor to meet the chief's.

“No, Amanda.” Detective Anderson replied a bit too sharply, lips tugging downwards in the beginnings of a disgruntled frown as his eyes met the woman’s and determination hardened his soft gaze. “It won’t happen again.” Connor promised solemnly, remorse and conviction alike both clearly visible in his unwavering expression as Amanda nodded once and pulled back to her original position. 

“Good.” The woman replied firmly, the softness present in her tone a moment before glaringly absent once more to be replaced by utter coldness as she straightened her back and flicked her gaze to the television still playing softly in the background.

The woman on the screen, a Rosanna Cartland according to Hank’s instantaneous facial scan, was giving a dramatic rundown of a confrontation between a famous artist’s household android and the man’s son. There honestly wasn’t much to report, the son, Leo Manfred, had shown aggressive behavior towards his father and the android had shoved the younger Manfred in a sudden outburst of deviancy. The police had arrived, the deviant had been shot, and both humans had survived with little injury to speak of. Rosanna, however, was making the minor altercation sound like a walking doomsday warning and if the pessimistic frown Amanda Stern was fixing the monitor with was anything to go by, the police chief agreed with the overdramatic newscaster. 

“Deviancy,” Amanda began solemnly, letting the word drip from her lips like it was some bitter poison that disgusted her to even let rest in her mouth for a moment. “A disease in the wires, spreading like a virus with each passing day.” The woman went on, keeping her gaze locked on the screen until the very end of her sentence where she suddenly fixed her intense stare on Connor instead, dark eyes boring directly into the detective who straightened up and went rigid under her blazing orbs. 

“We here at the Detroit Police Department have decided to partner with Cyberlife to bring an end to this mounting problem.” Amanda informed professionally, threading her fingers calmly together upon her desk as she spoke. “And they have granted us this android to assist in the investigation.” The woman explained evenly, nodding at where Hank still stood watching on as a silent bystander all while Connor merely nodded attentively at every word, making the guy kinda look like a bobble head as his wild hair bounced fluidly with every jerk of his neck.  

“I want you to investigate this deviancy issue.” The police chief asserted, her carefully controlled voice devoid of emotion as the detective eagerly shifted forward, clasping his hands atop the desk in a mirror of Amanda’s own and leaning on the limbs to angle his back in a smooth slope towards the woman. “This is an incredibly important case and you’re the best this department has, Connor.” The woman offered smoothly, a slow smile that never reached her eyes playing across her lips as the detective practically preened at the praise, his chocolate orbs glimmering hopefully and his growing grin leaving nothing to guesswork. 

“Thank you, Amanda.” Connor replied with an impressive level of control, keeping his soft voice careful and smooth so that it still lilted gently over every word despite the absolutely elated beam the words had to fight to get past his lips. “I won’t let you down.” The detective promised eagerly, his voice brimming with conviction as he straightened back up in his chair and gave a small mock salute that was quickly dropped once more with a single sharp glare from the prudish police chief. 

“I’m sure you won't, Connor.” Amanda agreed sweetly then suddenly her expression took on a slight sinister edge, an amused glint shining briefly in her dark eyes the first hint of actual emotion Hank had seen since they’d entered the empty room. “Especially not with this android helping you.” The woman added with an obviously fake smile, pulling her fingers apart to gesture smoothly over at the HK800 model in question with a single hand in a slow sweep of grandeur.

Connor startled back a bit, his doe-eyes widening a fraction as his body visibly jolted slightly as if he hadn’t quite pieced together that fact despite all the evidence clearly being offered. Was this guy really Detroit’s best? If so, the city was doomed…

“Amanda, we’ve talked about this!” Detective Anderson almost whined, his lilting voice dipping deep where it usually only sank a tad bit lower and his high peaks suddenly mountains high above sealine. “I don’t need a partner!” Connor protested stubbornly, frowning slightly and releasing a perturbed huff that made him look almost childlike in his ill temper. Had this guy ever even heard of professionalism? Hank thought the answer here was probably no. 

“Please, Amanda, listen,” The disgruntled detective began his plea, dropping his voice to the hushed tones of a hissed whisper despite the fact that with the android’s enhanced hearing capabilities - his audio processors attuned to be hypersensitive when he so chose them to be in allowance for him to listen in on criminal conversation through walls or from a safe distance - it did Connor absolutely no good. 

“We’ve been hanging out for like, two minutes (Connor’s approximation was incredibly wrong. They’d been in each other’s company for approximately 11 minutes and 37 seconds according to Hank’s inner clock) and I’ve already hit this poor fucker with the cheesiest line in my book.” The man appealed desperately, gesturing vaguely with his restless hands as he leaned forward to hiss the words in an odd sort of sharp whisper that could never actually be considered quiet even by a human with no enhancement augmentation to speak for’s standards.

“Then you should be happy about this.” Amanda actually jested lightly, the small teasing smile that tugged lightly at the corner of her lip the first genuinely kind thing Hank had seen out of the woman since their arrival. 

“Amanda!” Connor wailed unhappily, the man’s voice skyrocketing in both pitch and volume in the same instance, leaving a horrid ringing in Hank’s audio processors as the android came to regret ever upping the sensitivity of the things - Or maybe he just regretted meeting Connor. It was getting hard to tell at this point

“You wouldn’t wanna curse your worst enemy to this fate!” Connor insisted urgently, dropping his voice back down to a whisper once more and, somehow, Hank detected no lie or omission in his softly lilting voice. Of all the stupid reasons one could not want a partner, that’s really what this idiot was worried about?

“It isn’t a partner.” Amanda argued steadily, threading her hands back together where they had rested mere moments ago as she leaned back slightly in her chair and Connor in turn shifted a bit forward, light frown deepening just the slightest bit. “It’s a tool built to aid in a task.” The woman informed coolly, looking bored of this conversation already as Connor mumbled something unintelligible under his breath and made no moves to agree nor argue back. 

“The HK800 model is a top of the line prototype, equipped with every available tool to aid you in your investigation.” Amanda began almost proudly but didn’t get much farther than that as Connor piped up and interrupted her spiel.

“Everything?” Detective Anderson questioned incredulously, glancing back at Hank with a single dark eyebrow raised in amused disbelief. “You mean like, a built in bottle opener? Or are we talking laser eyes here?” Connor inquired in what sounded like a teasing tone but peaked on Hank’s sensors as genuine curiosity…

Yeah. Detroit was doomed. 

Amanda apparently shared the android’s pessimistic sentiment for the woman made an absolutely exhausted sort of noise that sounded something like one might imagine the damned offspring forged of a forbidden love between a tired sigh and a devastated sob would. 

“I’m afraid I am not equipped with laser eyes, Detective.” Hank admitted blankly, keeping his hands behind his back and his entire person void of emotion despite the shit he was dealing with. The android was glad he had been specifically designed to withstand deviancy - Connor Anderson alone had the potential to irritate an entire army of androids into becoming deviant in ten minutes flat, if not sooner. 

“Damn!” Connor sighed with disappointment evident in his tone, slumping back in his seat with a disapproving tsk before the detective happened to chance a glance back at his disgruntled chief and quickly added, “That would’ve been so… Useful.” The sentence was far from convincing, the words clumsy and halting as the detective began to turn back around to fully face the police commander once more but Amanda seemed placated, already beginning to straighten back up to her usual professional stance as her face resumed its usual stoic emotionlessness. 

“But I can do this.” Hank offered just before the man could turn back around completely, snapping his fingers sharply as Connor returned his full focus to the android at the prompt, brown eyes glimmering with a hint of interest as the man propped his elbow on the back of his chair so he could cock his body sideways and witness the display. The minuscule action, paired with a small internal command, produced a controlled burst of flame that danced from the android’s fingertips and flickered merrily in a bright song of life before extinguishing again in a moment at the machine’s unspoken command

“Holy shit.” Connor breathed in awe, a small blue arrow facing the ceiling blinking into existence momentarily in the corner of Hank’s vision alongside the detective’s name as the man gazed wonderingly at the android’s fingertips for a long moment before a sharp cough from Amanda brought the detective whipping about in his seat as quickly as Hank had turned about earlier today, letting the machine know the harsh action couldn’t have been in the best interest of the human’s muscles. 

Hank was unsure of what piece of programming prompted him to show off the trick as the small action obviously held no direct impact on the mission but the android was quick to mark it off as a pragmatic step towards the goal of  _ From Partnership With Connor _ he was programmed to pursue. 

“As I was saying,” Amanda began again, puncturing the annoyed statement with a pointed glare before continuing on. “This android is designed specifically to hunt down and exterminate deviants.” The woman explained, looking carefully at the man across from her as if gauging his reaction to the words and it didn’t look as if Connor had studied for the test at all and was now flunking the exam. 

Anderson’s shoulders tensed up, arching from their proper place at his neckline to whisper dirty things to his ears as the rest of the guy’s body soon followed suit, his muscles visibly going taunt even under the oversized jacked obscuring most of the finer shapes of the detective’s form. “A killing machine.” Connor commented tastelessly, casting a momentary glance back at Hank with far less than what one could consider a comfortable look about him, the man’s lips peaked downwards and his coffee eyes calculating in a way that bordered on mistrustful. 

“Yes, another reason I assigned it to you specifically, Connor.” Amanda brought focus back to herself with a cold tone that offered none of the warmth or companionability she’d presented earlier when it had benefited her. “HK800 is perfect to counterbalance your,” The woman elaborated than paused, looking thoughtful for a short moment as if she were trying to find the exact word before she threaded her hands together again and gazed coldly at the man across from her. “Shortcomings.” The police chief finished distastefully, that familiar look of silent disapproval entering her gaze as Connor shrunk a little lower in his seat and ducked his head low as he had done the last time the woman fixed him with that disappointed look.

“There was no reason to shoot that android.” Connor insisted resolutely, his lilting voice dropped soft so that Hank likely wouldn’t have been able to hear it from his place by the wall had he not been an android.

“What?” Amanda balked harshly, her mild disapproval shifting to a distasteful glower as she rose up from her seat slightly only to catch herself a moment later and lower her body carefully back into its previous place of resting professionalism.

“The hostage had been released. Daniel wasn’t resisting.” Connor pushed on despite the fact that his gaze remained ever locked on a particularly fascinating loose thread on the pale carpet lining the floor of the room.

“Connor,” Amanda began gently, back to all soft sweetness and warmth that still managed to pull Detective Anderson’s gaze from the ground despite how quickly it had all disappeared before. “The  _ PL600 _ ,” The woman began, puncturing the serial number as if saying the title forcefully enough would pound it into Connor’s head. “Was a defective machine.” The police chief implored the detective but merely received a silent nod that looked anything like convinced. “Do you understand?” Amanda pressed urgently, keeping her voice soft and sunshine warm as if doing so would secure Connor to her side even when the question itself left no room for any answer but one.

“I understand, Amanda.” Connor parroted obediently, his gentle voice flat and carefully void of emotion as the police chief merely sighed exhaustedly and leaned back in her chair in the slightest, never moving her hands from their stoic clasped position. 

“Then you are dismissed.” The woman announced tiredly, before Connor gave a single curt nod and lifted his body sluggishly out of the chair, pushing the piece of furniture back in its proper position. The man made for the door, Hank hot on his heels, when Amanda spoke once more, opening her mouth just as the detective placed his hand on the large door handle and pushed it open so her words followed the pair out as they departed to undertake their mission.

“Connor, our future depends on this.” Amanda called after them, her voice grave beyond measure as her gaze darkened on her last words and a grim expression settled over her emotionless face.

“I understand, Amanda.” Connor promised solemnly once more and they were gone from the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Snorts everyone's kind comments* That's some good shiiiiiiiiiitttttttt


	5. Small Talk

Connor remained quiet as he made his way down the low rising steps separating Amanda’s slightly raised office from the rest of the DPD, shoulders hunched and gaze locked steadily downwards even as they came to a halt just in front of his own desk and the detective all but dropped his body into the standard issue office chair. The man’s limbs hung in a manner that suggested a heavy weight pulled down upon them as Detective Anderson let out a low groan and brought one hand up to press two fingers into his forehead, massaging his temple in a sure indication of an oncoming headache. 

Hank observed the behavior silently, taking in the slight wince that passed over Connor’s face and running a quick scan of the man to bring up a list of salt levels, body temperature, heart rate, and any other such pertinent stats that might clue the android in to the cause of the sudden disturbance. While water levels were a little on the low side and stress levels were admittedly well more than a touch over where their normal resting rate should optimally sit, the only mark of immediate concern were the startlingly low energy levels picked up by the machine's advanced sensors, calculations discerning that Detective Anderson couldn’t have gotten more than an hour or so of sleep the previous evening. 

“Detective Anderson, you seem to be experiencing some amount of discomfort.” Hank began clinically, carefully detached as always even as Connor lifted his head slightly to gaze questioningly at the android around his hand still pressed into his forehead. “Your headache is likely due to a concerning lack of sleep but may also stem from tension caused by anxiety or being overworked as your stress levels are higher than optimal.” The android railed off emotionlessly, deciding the need to do so probably stemmed from the low likelihood that Detective Anderson would prove to be a useful asset if unwell. It made sense. 

“Caffeine withdrawal at its finest.” Connor dismissed lightly, waving the words away with a casual swipe of his slender fingers as the man leaned back so that his chair tipped backwards and the front wheels hovered a few inches above the tile floor. “We’re just lucky I haven’t started shaking yet.” The detective snickered dryly, playing the concerning statement off with a dismissive joke as a restless hand extended out to the desk and grabbed from the messy surface a sleek, black pen with gold trimming on the tip and clip. 

“If you’re feeling unwell, Detective, I suggest-” Hank tried to offer a solution but was quickly cut off by a quick shake of the detective’s hand, the pen twined carefully between two fingers and held back by the man’s thumb as he faced his palm towards the android and brushed off the unspoken suggestion before the machine even had a chance to propose a thing.

“Get a coffee in my hand and a cigarette between my teeth and I’ll be fine.” Connor assured easily, twirling the pen about his digits skillfully to bring it back into his grip as he brought the hand back to himself. “Just glance through the case files real quick or whatever you gotta do and we’ll go grab something.” The detective went on before parting his lips and fitting the end of the writing utensil lightly between his teeth, gnawing gently at the very edge of the thing as his finger tapped rhythmically at the unabused tip.

Upon quick inspection, Hank realize the utensil was already well roughed up by light teeth marks littering its once sleek surface, as was the case for every other multicolor pen scattered haphazardly about Anderson's trash pile of a desk and the android had to wonder how he’d possibly overlooked this now glaringly obvious detail in his preliminary scan. 

“Thanks for worrying though, Robocop.” Connor added cheekily, throwing another eccentric wink the android’s way as the machine’s processors once again struggled to classify the stupid action. A cheery blue arrow plipped briefly into the prototype’s vision though so the electronic policeman took no issue with it.

“Strange to give me a name only to not use it, Detective.” Hank commented with the defrosters turned on to ease his usual cold tones into something a little less “I want nothing less than to be here in your company” to more like a “I want  _ few _ things less than to be here in your company.”

“What can I say?” Connor shrugged humorously, bringing his hands even with his shoulders as he faced his palms towards the ceiling only to cross them in front of his chest a moment later. “I’m a sucker for the classics” The detective admitted lightly, kicking his legs up to rest on the edge of his desk as he leaned his body back to angle the chair dangerously. 

“Is there an unowned terminal I can access the case files from?” Hank finally questioned flatly after a long moment, still slightly hung up on the preceding conversation but placated by the fact that there was some sort of solution on the horizon, even if it wasn’t the healthiest. Besides, it held no baring over the mission. 

“No one’s using that one,” Connor informed casually, uncrossing his arms to jab a finger towards a computer placed atop the completely bare desk facing the detective’s. “But I’ve already got ‘em pulled up over here.” Detective Anderson offered easily, lilting voice dancing over the sentence in cresting rises and plummeting falls as if the letters were a ballroom and the words a beat no one else could hear.

“Thank you, Detective.” Hank noted curtly, offering his companion a stoic nod of gratitude as Connor pulled his legs off the desk and kicked out slightly to roll his chair a few inches back in offerance of the indicated computer.

“Just X out of Youtube and you should see ‘em.” Detective Anderson threw over the android’s shoulder as Hank moved to stand just in front of the terminal and jiggled the blackened monitor back awake with a small jolt of the plastic mouse. The machine tried to push away the grim images of what fate had befallen him last time he’d seen that horrible video as the screen buzzed to life and greeted the robot’s eyes with Rick Astley mid chord once more, Hank focusing instead on the new task at hand and moving the small pointer over to the bold red X in the upper right hand corner of the screen. 

The android gave a sharp downward tap of his digit and the video disappeared from sight, the foolish page falling away to display instead a deep blue background marked over with pages of white print text and and image of an AX400 posted proudly in the corner. The android had apparently assaulted her master and stolen away the man’s child, attacking without cause and without warning if the information presented by the victim, a Todd Williams, proved accurate. Hank’s LED flickered yellow and the screen blinked rapidly through the remaining files: A WR400 who strangled a man, a WR600 who disappeared in the inner city, a WB200 who ran off in the middle of a job… The list went on and on. 

“You read all that that fast?” Connor’s lilting voice inquired just as Hank finished downloading the last of the files and stored the newly gathered information away for later use, the man sounding as impressed as he did curious as the detective leaned forward slightly, propping his elbows on his knees and placing his tormented pen back between his teeth as he watched the robot. 

“I don’t so much read as you’re probably using the word, Detective.” Hank replied stoneley, pulling back from the computer and standing up straight backed as always as he turned to face the detective, whose head instinctively tilted back a bit to follow the movement. “I’ve merely downloaded the information.” The android explained flatly, earning a thoughtful hum from his companion who removed the pen from his lips to tap it lightly against his chin instead. 

“Could you read if you wanted to?” Connor asked after a moment, tilting his head to the side slightly as he spoke so that his curling hair fell haphazardly wayward and brushed softly over his gentle face as he twirled the abused pen between his thumb and forefinger, the sleek black sheen catching the light and reflecting it back in a series of sporadic glints as the item was shifted about restlessly. 

“Yes, I am programmed with the capacity to read if necessary.” Hank replied automatically but then after a moment went on to add a tentative, “Why does it matter?” The android saw no real reason this skill should affect their investigation as it currently stood and reading most certainly held no pertinence to his programmed purpose of exterminating deviants as the android was already equipped with the capability to handle whatever weaponry existed on the market without needing to fool with something so insignificant as a users manual. (“Halt! Police! I will fire upon you, just let me read this booklet right quick!” - Was a situation the lethal machine had been programmed to avoid.)

“I don’t know.” Connor shrugged offhandedly, his lilting voice reluctant and perturbed as if he were picturing something unpleasant. “I just wouldn’t like not being able sit down and read something if I felt like it.” The detective admitted easily, gesturing vaguely with one hand while holding up the pen with the other, propping the thing up with his index finger and keeping it pressed securely against said digit with his thumb while the rest of his fingers curled over the base of the misused utensil.  

“Read any good books lately?” Connor abruptly questioned before Hank could go off on a tangent about how he, as an android, didn’t like anything; the detective’s soft voice strained and forced, thick with discomfort and splitting awkwardly in places a pause shouldn’t be as the guy twirled the black pen through his fingers until it rested evenly between his middle and forefingers to beat the writing tool quickly against the table in an anxious rhythm with a series of short, hard taps. 

“I was activated solely for this mission, Detective.” Hank pointed out blankly, wondering how the fuck he was ever gonna deal with such idiotic questions without slamming his head into the nearest wall every two minutes. “I’ve not had time to sit around and read. I was turned on, given a series of tests to ensure my functionality, and sent here.” The android elaborated coolly, running over his entire life story in all of two sentences only to earn a slightly dismayed groan from his companion in response.

“Gotcha.” Connor stated noncomentably, silencing his hurried tapping to pull his hands back into his coat pockets as his gaze drifted sideways and a muted frown came to rest across his lips, the man’s shoulders arching a bit before slumping in an agitated huff. A brief analysis brought back alerts of a rising internal body temperature, clearly visible in the slight flush coming to twinge the detective’s cheeks pink, and an increase in heart rate. Paired with the obvious signs of distress clearly written in the guy’s behavior, it wasn’t hard to distinguish the reaction as embarrassment.

_ Connor was trying to make conversation, _ A translucent notification flitted across Hank’s vision, the android easily coming to the logical conclusion once all the available evidence was lined up before him and the machine found himself wondering how he hadn't figured that out earlier, especially knowing the detective was already concerned over his awkward behavior as the man had it admitted to Amanda. It was a foolish mistake the android was disappointed in himself for making, he wasn’t built for such stupid miscalculations and vowed to be more aware in the future. Hank couldn’t fail this mission. 

Thinking quickly, Hank scanned the man before him in search of something to comment on, looking to pursue the opportunity to further the task of  _ Form Partnership With Connor   _ that he’d carelessly overlooked. The material composition of the man’s jacket presented itself: Unhelpful. The level of grease currently existing in Connor’s hair showed up too: Probably not the best to comment on. The short, silvery hairs of a Russian Blue clinging to the oversized jacket:  _ Perfect. _

“You have a cat, correct, Detective Anderson?” Hank questioned sharply, the words coming out chopped and urgent in the android’s rush but any concern the prototype had about this deterring the detective was washed away as Connor’s disheartened gaze flew up to meet the machine’s own, chocolate orbs glittering with surprise as they locked with stormy blue. 

“Holy shit! How the hell did you know?” The man gaped wonderingly, voice light and breathy with a sense of awe that seemed irrationally improportionate for the offhanded conversation starter. “Are you psychic? Do they make psychic androids now? Tell me your secret.” Connor pressed, scooching himself forward so that his wheeled chair rolled jerkily nearer as the detective’s amazed face twisted into a critical squint, as if the man were attempting to pry into the robot’s coding with his eyeballs alone. 

“You have cat hair on your jacket, Detective.” Hank admitted slowly, feeling his lips twitch slightly before he quickly schooled them back into a hard line of disinterest and stoically adjusted the cuff of his suit jacket for lack of anything better to do. 

“Shh, Hank.” Connor shushed softly, pressing a long finger to his own lips as the android stared silently at the human in a state of blank confusion. “A magician never reveals his secrets.” The detective informed in a hushed whisper, smirking slightly to himself before leaning back to bring the front wheels of his chair off the floor once more. Hank might’ve felt the urge to tip the chair into falling - Had he been human, that was. Of course. 

“Tell me about your cat, Detective.” Hank prompted encouragingly, the bright white text demanding he  _ Form Partnership With Connor _ blazing in the corner of the android’s vision and urging him to pursue the small talk to the utmost in consideration of the task.

“Her names Sakura and she’s an absolute priss.” Connor replied easily, smiling lightly to himself as a light blue arrow alongside the detective's name flashed into the android’s view. The man then paused for a moment, looking thoughtful and uncertain before beginning to say something only to hesitate halfway through and let his lips fall closed again. “My brother gave her to me.” The man finally added softly after a long moment, tugging lightly at the left cuff of his jacket sleeve and biting his lower lip gently. 

Hank initially intended to respond to this new piece of information, however, the restless fiddling pulled the beige cloth up a fraction higher than usual and a disturbance in the pale flesh there instantly attracted the android’s keen eyes, a dark black stain of unnatural make marring the pale expanse of skin. The marking was tiny and mostly obscured by the large coat sleeve falling back over it an instant later so that the machine couldn’t quite make out what exactly it was and a human would surely have missed it entirely, but the HK800 model prototype was no human.

“You have a tattoo on your left wrist.” Hank commented monotonously, noting the small discovery with little interest but deciding it might make a decent conversation point nevertheless. Human’s usually got tattoos to represent things they liked or that were important to them and, statistically speaking, people tended to enjoy talking about the things they liked. “What is it?” The machine prompted companionably, trying his damndest to actually converse with the man he was supposed to play partner to but, apparently, the android didn’t quite read the “How To Befriend Your Dysfunctional Human” guide quite as thoroughly as he should've.   

A quick flash of orange shaped into a sharp downwards arrow blinked across Hank’s field of vision, partnered with the word “Distant” printed in a heavy, bold font as Connor went still, all impatient twitching and restless movement suddenly coming to an abrupt and unexpected halt. “If you’re done with those files, we should go.” Detective Anderson stated flatly, already rising from his seat before Hank even had a chance to respond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for your continued support ~ Your kind comments make my day :)


	6. Crappy Car Rides and Even Crappier Conversation Starters

By the time Hank made his way through the security gates and out the huge, glass doors opening to the busy sidewalk beyond, Connor was already halfway down the street and standing alongside a crookedly parked, burgundy hatchback that looked well beyond its glory days. The man was fiddling with something in his hands and mumbling in muttered exasperation under his breath, glaring daggers at his own digits as his breath puffed out in heavy wisps of steam formed by crisp November air. 

Though initially too small and obstructed by the detective’s fumbling fingers to discern, as Hank began to approach the scene the android was able to identify the item causing Detective Anderson’s apparent irritation to be a boxy, silver lighter, the bright metal of the thing catching the diluted light of the overcast evening and glinting joyously in the dim rays. The man’s clumsy fingers, likely made inept by the frigid chill of the dropping temperature, fiddled vainly with the thing, running sharply over the small metal wheel of the lighting mechanism to little avail. 

“Come on, baby.” Connor coaxed softly, his voice carefully quiet and gentle as if he were talking to an abused puppy rather than an inanimate object. “One more time for Daddy.” The detective implored the lighter desperately, frowning deeply at the metal box as he fingered a cigarette anxiously in the other hand, rolling the white paper over his finger tips restlessly as his deft fingers rolled over the lighter wheel once more. The object gave a weak spit of flame that died back down the moment it was created, pulling a fresh stream of curses from Connor’s bitten lips as he flicked his finger over the metal wheel with renewed vigor, pulling the digit jerkily down time and again with little success. 

Finally, however, after a final spluttering attempt, the lighter  _ fooshed _ into a steady flame, the small cone of yellow orange warmth flickering and wavering in the chilly breeze but remaining strong long enough for Connor to clasp his cigarette between his teeth and bring the fire up to touch against the white paper end. “Thank you so fucking much.” The detective praised the lighter that was obviously on its last legs, sticking the thing back into his pocket as gray smoke began to curl up from the lit cigarette and trail away from the man in ebbing whisps. 

Under  _ Form Partnership With Connor _ , a prompt to  _ Reconcile with Connor  _ sprung into existence, the small white words urging Hank to approach the scene but hesitate a moment before actually moving to enter the car even as Connor pulled open the driver side door. “I didn’t know anyone still drove manually operated vehicles.” The android stated quickly, hoping to move past the lingering awkwardity still hanging thickly in the air between them by distracting his companion with new and better topics and commenting on the first viable option he saw. 

“You should really re-evaluate how much you think a city detective makes.” Connor replied rather flatly, his voice not sounding as if it were intended to be cruel but most certainly not in its usual state of openness either. “Because whatever you’ve got in mind, you’re sorely mistaken.” The man snorted dryly before climbing inside the car and pulling the door shut behind him with a definitive metal slam. 

Hank followed suit immediately, walking around to the passenger side of the vehicle and pulling the door open smoothly before carefully lowering his body through the metal gateway and neatly into the gray fabric covered seat beyond. The android positioned his bulkily built frame as professionally in the cramped car seat as he could but there was only so much one could do and with his knees pressing painfully into the glove box and his back bent uncomfortably into the too far reclined chair, Hank was certain he looked far from the picture of stoic structure he was going for.

However, when Connor chanced a glance over at the disarrayed android just before slipping a shining metal key into the ignition, the man stared blankly for a second before an amused grin ghosted tentatively across his soft features, a dim blue arrow peeking through Hank’s vision as a light snicker escaped the detective and the man untensed some as he finally pushed the key into the ignition and gave it a turn. 

“I apologize if I made you uncomfortable, Detective.” Hank offered hurriedly, hoping to build off the positive interaction that had just occurred and use it to boost his way into reconciled territory. “It was not my intent.” The android added carefully, cautiously watching the man in the driver seat to gauge his reaction to the apology, sensors tuned to every miniscule shift of the detective’s muscle and twitch in his face. Though the only thing the machine was able to gather was that now that Connor had a cigarette clasped between his jaws, the restless movement that had dominated the man’s actions before had subsided immensely.

The car sputtered uncooperatively under Detective Anderson’s fingertips, rumbling weakly as the key was turned before simmering down to silence once more as Connor merely groaned in exasperation before cranking the ignition again. “Don’t worry about it.” The man threw back easily, rolling his shoulders heavily in a poor excuse for a casual shrug as the car gave another grumble of protest before falling quiet once again. “I’m just an oversensitive ‘lil bitch.” Connor offered dismissively, throwing a light laugh on the end of his sentence that invited the android to simply laugh it off with him but, considering Hank wasn’t even sure he had the capacity to laugh, all the machine could offer was a slow nod. Though, honestly, the robot was quite near certain he wouldn’t have been able to laugh off the deprecating statement even had he been human.

Finally, a last ditch turn of the small, silver key brought the stubborn vehicle roaring to life, the engine growling angrily as if aggravated at being made to work and determined to snarl out its vengeance until the day it could finally enact its carefully plotted revenge. The entire car shook with the vicious tremors of the dying machinery but the unwell sounding gurgle of the mechanical mishap was all but drowned out by blaring music suddenly blasting forth from the car radio, the noise all energetic, racing cadences and bass heavy blasts pounding out by the second as if someone had decided a drive by would make a good base for a song then proceeded to snort cocaine. 

Hank’s database informed him the song was titled “Cherry Pop” by some guy who couldn’t seem to decide between numbers or letters when making his stage name but the android simply labeled it “Trash” in the privacy of his own mind as the information  _ Connor listens to shitty techno music  _ filed itself neatly away in the shadowed Connor Anderson section of the machine’s data storage unit. 

“Stop judging me, Robocop.” Connor demanded haughtily, giving an indignant snort for dramatic effect as he put the car in reverse and turned around in the seat, elbow propped against the headrest and entire body twisted about to gaze through the back windshield despite how much more sense it would've made for him to just ask Hank to look.

“I’m incapable of judging you, Detective.” The android informed curtly, keeping his gaze carefully schooled forward as he straightened his back as much as possible in the cramped space and folded his hands neatly over his lap.

“And yet you’re doing it anyway.” Connor huffed pointedly, though there was a clear edge of light humor to his gently lilting voice as the detective turned back around and pulled the car out of the parking space. “I can see it all over your face.” Anderson informed the robot easily, gesturing vaguely with one hand waving pointlessly in the air before bringing the limb to his mouth where he carefully placed his first two digits atop his cigarette and braced his thumb against the bottom of it.

“I am merely concerned by the volume at which you’re exposing yourself too.” Hank excused whatever the detective had supposedly seen on his face, despite the fact that the android was near positive his expression hadn’t altered in the slightest. “Any sound louder than 85 decibels is potentially harmful to the human ear and can cause permanent damage if exposure is continued for any length of time.” The machine railed off clinically, pulling facts from his limitless database and reciting them with the confidence of a professional. It was really no wonder androids were beginning to take the place of many professions, such as doctors, that were once held by humans alone.

“What was that?” Connor called questioningly, raising his voice to almost a yell to be heard over the blaring bass of the song that only seemed to be getting progressively faster in its seizure inducing spastic sounds. 

“Point proven.” Hank all but muttered, certain Connor would fail to hear him no matter how hard the android tried and not willing to waste processing power on such a fruitless endeavor as silence fell between them only to be filled by the booming “pop”s of the trash song’s main riff. 

Connor sucked in a long, slow breath and gently tugged the cigarette free from its hold between his teeth to part his pink lips and carefully blow free the dirtied air in a gray cloud of mist, letting the dark tendrils ghost up to frame his face as he placed the item back in its proper place. However, the detective then let his chocolate orbs drift over to his electronic companion and conscientiously reached a hand down to turn the plastic hand crank controlling the window once or twice before a small crack was formed and cold wind whipped in to carry the smoke away.

“Your consideration is unwarranted, Detective. My breathing is merely an artificial replication of human respiration and is completely cosmetic.” Hank informed in a business like tone, voice raised to overpower the booming music yet maintaining a careful air of professionalism about it even then. “Though I would recommend leaving the window open in the interest of maintaining your own health.” The android added as Connor merely made a slight hum of agreement and gave a dismissive shrug before pressing his foot harder down onto the gas pedal. 

The aging car growled angrily but sped up nevertheless, the entire thing shimmying dangerously as Connor tugged his cigarette from between his teeth and extended his arm to lightly tap the thing against the rolled down window, sending a flurry of sparking ashes dancing from off the tip before returning it to his mouth. The man kept a single hand wrapped loosely over the top of the steering wheel, using the other to carefully clasp the cigarette stuck gently between his lips to take a drag on it every few moments, the white paper burning up rapidly under the ever consuming burn steadily creeping closer to the detective’s mouth.

“Detective, I must inform you that you have exceeded the speed limit for this section of road by fifteen miles per hour.” Hank pointed out stoically, resolutely blinking away the recommended report his programming dictated he should send and instead opting to merely reach a hand up to clasp the plastic handle above the door frame, aiming to damage as little of his expensive body as possible in the likely (36%) chance that Connor got them into a wreck. 

“Quit worrying, Hanky Panky!” Connor waved off the android’s statement, only increasing his chance of wrecking to a solid 48% as he removed his hand from the wheel to shoo away the words. However, quite unsurprisingly, this thoughtless action sent the vehicle steadily drifting into the neighboring lane, the front bumper of the thing crossing the bold, white line as an enraged honk blared from the car alongside them and Connor startled into action. “I know exactly what I’m doing!” The man assured optimistically, despite the fact that this was obviously a bold faced lie as the detective gripped the steering wheel tightly and roughly swerved their car into the correct lane once more with a messy jerk of the item. 

“I’m not so sure you do, Detective.” Hank bit out irritably, his grip on the overhead handle tightening until the android began to feel the weak plastic bend under his steely grip and pulled his hand back to see the light indent of his own fingers crunched into the unfortunate material. Whoops. 

One might think a rude comment like that would strike Connor as unpleasant or at least unwarranted but, on the contrary, a light blue arrow danced gleefully into Hank’s vision and the horrible driver merely released an amused snort in response to the dry insult. “Come on, Robocop! We’re almost there and I haven’t killed us!” Detective Anderson pointed out cheekily, taking his cigarette from between his teeth to tap it lightly against the window once more, revealing a slight grin tugging at his freed up lips.

“Where exactly is there, Detective?” Hank inquired, still having to yell to be heard over Luis Fonsi’s Despacito which now blared cheerily forth from the speakers as Connor finally began to slow somewhat and flicked on his right blinker to take them down a side street, only to immediately begin speeding up to a dangerous pace once more the moment they were off the main road. 

“The best coffee shop in town!” The detective promised confidently, taking a final drag on his cigarette before the singeing ashes finally reached the butt of the thing and the man reluctantly snubbed the burning item out on the plastic of the dashboard before dropping the worthless leftover into a conveniently placed ashtray resting atop the middle console. 

Awkward silence settled over the cramped vehicle once more after that, neither party able to bring much to the floor in terms of casual conversation as one was an android activated not but a few days ago and the other was quickly revealing himself to be a socially inept mess. Connor kept tossing sideways glances over at the prototype and shifting about purposelessly before fixing his coffee orbs to the road once more only to repeat the same process again moments later while Hank tried to busy himself with running over the case files he’d downloaded in the confines of his mind. 

However, after the fifth time Connor chanced a quick look over to the robot and tapped his long finger noisily atop the steering wheel in an increasingly rapid series of anxious beats, Hank had to say something. “Tell me about yourself, Detective.” The android tried on a whim, throwing the basic conversation starter abruptly into the silence between them with nothing to offer in terms of softening the sudden shift.

Connor startled a bit at the sudden question, quickly snapping his gaze back to the road ahead of him as if he’d been caught in some guilty act and tightening his grip on the steering wheel a bit, though a translucent dash of light blue indicated the guys true relief at having the awkward silence dissipated and let Hank know he’d made the right decision.  

“Whaddya wanna know?” Connor inquired with genuine curiosity peaking through his lilting tone after looking thoughtful for a moment, as if the guy couldn’t quite think of anything worth mentioning to say about himself. 

“What do you like?” Hank tried stiffly, sorting through his relations protocol in search of what exactly one was supposed to ask in this sort of situation and finding only such basic questions as that. 

“Coffee.” Connor snorted hopelessly, a slight wistful look glimmering in his chocolate eyes as the man slowed once more and turned them down yet another side street, though this time they didn’t speed back up. 

“What’s your favorite food?” The android tried again, having gained little actual useful information from his last attempt and now going steadily down a list of basic “Get To Know Your Partner” prompts he found buried deep in his coding. 

“Coffee.” Connor stated once more, with such confidence and surety it was impossible to tell if the man was actually joking or not as he finally began to pull them to a stop in front of a run down looking building with little to speak of in terms of outdoor decor and a lot less to speak of for a welcoming atmosphere.

“That is not a food, Detective.” Hank tried flatly but only received a nonchalant shrug in reply, leaving the machine to scramble for some way to redeem this worthless conversation. “Do you have any talents? Any awakening discoveries? A hobby?” The android read off monotonously, getting nowhere no matter what he pulled from the unhelpful list of questions as Connor finally swerved the car messily into a piss poor excuse for a parking job alongside the road and threw the ageing piece of machinery in park.   

“Once, I fit a whole pack of cigarettes in my mouth just to see if I could.” Connor informed proudly, beaming to himself as if this were a true accomplishment he deserved a big, shiny trophy for. “And if I learned anything from that experience, it was that I could totally deep throat a porn star.” The man declared lightly, looking far too pleased with himself as he pulled the car door open and stepped out into the street beyond.

Hank set a programming block against ever asking Connor about himself again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really didn't mean to make a whole chapter of just a car ride but whaddya know?


	7. Jerries Java

The place Connor had driven them to appeared to be a rather uncommentable, squat building squeezed uncomfortably between two taller, more modern structures that towered well over the uncommonly understated exterior of the coffee shop. The small building’s exterior lacked the flashing lights and bright, glimmering shine of innovation dominating the current culture and was rather formed from rust shaded bricks with oak trimmings melding smoothly into the demure exterior with little contrast as most stores and restaurants capitalized on in this day and age. The only prominent piece of decor the building had to speak for in its entirety was a slightly askew wooden sign with the words “Jerries Java”  printed across it in bold, black lettering that curled upwards on the tail of every a and twirled each curl of a j into an elaborate flourish. 

Even the spelling of this bust joint was lackluster...

Connor was already pushing open the large, wooden door and stepping inside by the time Hank managed to fight his way free of the restrictive confines of the drastically undersized car, struggling far more than he would like to admit with the task of carefully unfolding his cramped limbs and pulling his large body through the crunched door of the vehicle. The android nearly let out a disgruntled huff as he finally slammed the passenger door shut with a keen note of victory to the way he flung the metal door closed and perhaps with a touch more force than was strictly necessary but the robot quickly reigned in any such frivolous reaction and forced himself into rigid motion after the detective. 

The first thing Hank noted about the shop was the overall lack of light existing in the shady place, naught but a few dimly glowing, caged, hanging light bulbs and the occasional warm shaded wall lamp fighting back against the overbearing darkness threatening to swallow the tiny coffee shop whole. All of the furniture was wooden: The long oaken tables, the circular stools shoved alongside said tables, and even the low rising counter running the length of the back of the shop to separate the seating area from the exposed kitchen all proved to be entirely wooden - 100% oak with a resin preservative laid over top to prevent wear and ruin, according to Hank’s automatic scan. 

The overbearing aroma of cigarette smoke and coffee flooded the android’s olfactory sensors, more of a plethora of data abruptly converging over the robot’s processors than anything but a tad overwhelming in its strength nevertheless. Hank’s systems flashed informative description after description across the machine’s field of vision as his programming fought to analyse the onslaught of data the instant it was made available: Nicotine, caffeine, sweat…

“Con-man!” A chipper voice chirped merrily just as Hank pulled the door shut behind him and turned to see the guy he was following leaned, elbows propped, against the oaken counter on the far side of the joint, smiling lightly at a younger looking male standing behind the counter. 

The dude who had spoken had a kind sort of face, plump cheeks constantly cresting his forest eyes the slightest bit as a continuous smile tugged persistently at the man’s thin lips. Short ginger hair swept gently to the right and lay combed neatly flat on the opposite side of the shop worker’s head, paired with a light dash of gentle orange freckles splattered across the guy’s face to cross over the bridge of his nose and decorate his cheeks. A rapid facial scan indicated him to be a Jerry Cove, born June 22, 2013, no criminal record to date, and owner of Jerries Java.

“Hey, Jerry!” Connor greeted easily, pushing himself up so that only one elbow braced him against the counter as he reached the freed up hand into his coat pocket to produce his cigarette pack. “How’ve you been?” Detective Anderson questioned companionably, tilting his pack slightly so that its contents slid forward a bit before plucking a cigarette from the top of the pile free with his ring and middle finger while keeping the box firmly clasped within the rest of his digits, tapping the butt of the container lightly against the countertop to even the remaining items left inside back out.

“Good! We haven’t seen you in awhile.” Jerry replied, the familiarity ebbing through his energetic voice clearly indicating some previous level of friendship already established between the pair. This fact may have been of interest to Hank, however, the android was too caught up on the odd use of the term “we” to really analyze the previous discovery too far in depth at the moment. 

“Sorry, Jer, Amanda’s really run me through the ringer this past week.” Connor sighed tiredly, pushing himself up into a full-on standing position to pass his newly retrieved cigarette to the opposite hand where he twirled it between two fingers and flipped the cap back over his container with the other hand before slipping the box away in the abyss that was his huge coat pockets once more.

“You work too hard, Connor.” Jerry scolded with a light shake of his head sending a few flaming strands of his neatly combed hair falling free of their proper place but the detective merely dismissed the comment with a light laugh that left nothing more to be said. “The usual?” The coffee shop owner inquired, already pushing back from the counter and beginning to move about the kitchen before Connor even had a chance to respond, indicating the answer was already well known and the question merely a polite courtesy.

“You know it, Jer-Bear.” Detective Anderson threw back easily, shooting the man a companionable grin and taking a few steps back from the counter, tucking his hands deep into the never ending black holes of his jacket pockets once more as he went. 

“It’ll be brought out to you!” Jerry threw over his shoulder as he reached for a fraying burlap sack of coffee beans and dipped a plastic measuring scoop far into the shadowy recesses of the beige bag but Connor was already strolling away, the detective apparently frequenting the shop enough to have a routine already well established.

Connor aimed for a small circular table tucked away in the far corner of the shop. Two tall oak stools were pulled up alongside the wooden platform that rose well off the ground and the area was nearly shrouded in the practically lightless edge of the stuffy room. The detective gripped the round top of one of the wooden seats, carefully keeping his cigarette poised delicately between two fingers so that it wouldn't be crushed with the action, and pulled himself clutzily up the thing, all but climbing the stool with his foot catching messily on the bottom peg before resting solidly atop it and using it to boost his body the remaining distance to the top. It was ridiculous…

Hank raised himself up slightly with a simple shift of his weight to the front of his feet and placed his ass with much more poise and dignity atop the stool opposite the detective, letting his eyes scan over the place and its patrons the moment he was settled. Jerry apparently didn’t believe in windows as not a single one lined the walls of the shop but was a big fan of twinkle lights like one might see lining a carousel at a children's amusement park, the warm glowing things lining the ceiling in place of where a well positioned window might’ve provided perfectly adequate illumination for free. 

A few misplaced crates of coffee beans sitting among the seating area rather than kept safely behind the kitchen caught Hank’s critical eye but overall there was nothing too negative about the place to comment on. The android couldn’t even find fault in the patrons, his atutomatic, rapid facial scans informing him few of the people milling about the shop had any serious history of crime, a few minor violations of smaller laws here and there of course, but overall nothing too startling came back from the preliminary assessment the android ran of the place. The worst Hank could find was a Ralph Camden, a blonde man with a long scar running down over the left side of his face to maim one eye and trail in a vicious, jagged wound across his cheek, who was responsible for stealing a house plant. Crime at its worst, truly. 

“Fuck.” Connor grumbled unhappily, the words slightly misshapen around a cigarette clasped between his jaws and instantly drawing Hank’s wandering attention back to the man who was currently fighting with his dying lighter once more - Though, perhaps dead would actually be a better term for it at this point as, no matter how many times the man desperately struck his finger over the tiny, steel wheel of the lighting mechanism, the thing couldn’t be bothered to give even a weak flicker. 

The android blinked blankly at his companion, watching the detective fight with the malfunctioning device fruitlessly for a few minutes before finally breaking off his analysing stare. Hank hesitated only a moment longer, face twitching involuntarily, before the machine finally snapped his fingers once and brought forth a small, burning flame that twisted merrily over his digits to cone skywards in a dancing blaze. The prototype policeman wordlessly extended the hand towards his companion, gaze carefully measured as unfeeling blue eyes met startled brown ones and Connor gaped unintelligibly at the robot for a pace too long. 

A bright blue arrow gleamed across the android’s vision.

“You’re a savior, Hank.” Connor sighed softly, relief flowing smoothly through his lilting voice as the detective leaned forward to touch the cigarette still clasped gently between his teeth to the carefully controlled blaze, the small, orange flame flickering merrily to light the detective’s soft face in a warm, wavering glow that made his coffee eyes gleam under his long lashes and deepened the shadows below his soft cheeks

“I’m not a savior.” Hank replied stoically, watching the detective carefully as Connor raised chocolate orbs to gaze at him through thick lashes before slowly pulling into his own seat, keeping their gazes locked as he went. “I’m an android.” The HK800 model corrected resolutely, his companion dropping his ever steady gaze to look at some random speck upon the table instead, apparently finding the particle of dust to be far more intriguing than anything else in the coffee shop.

However, Connor was saved from having to actually form a reply to the deadpan declaration as the sound of someone approaching the table drew the gazes of both individuals sitting there to the newcomer. Jerry came forward, baring in one hand a large ceramic mug tinged light gray with little to speak of in terms of decoration or flourish and in the other a small saucer on which sat something that looked like a fruitcake had fucked Spongebob’s house. The man’s auburn locks fell slightly from where he had them combed neatly to the left as he placed the two items atop the counter and shot Conor an excited smile, emerald eyes lighting with joyous recognition. 

“Inspector Awesome!” Jerry greeted the detective as if he hadn’t seen him in weeks, broadening smile only growing wider as Connor returned the confounding expression in full and straightened up some to greet the man.

“Hey, Jerry! How’ve you been?” Connor questioned eagerly, leaving Hank’s LED spinning bright yellow and his processors reeling as Detective Anderson went on about the process of pulling his wallet from his back pocket as if there was nothing out of the ordinary whatsoever about this entire exchange.  

“Good!” Jerry replied excitedly, holding out an expectant hand as Connor tugged a few wrinkled dollar bills free from a leather wallet beginning to flake apart in places and placed them into the man’s waiting palm before slipping the aging item back away. “We haven’t seen you in awhile.” The coffee shop owner commented companionably, despite the obvious fact that the man had seen Connor all of two minutes and 33 seconds ago. 

“Sorry, Jer, Amanda’s really run me through the ringer this past week.” Connor huffed exhaustedly, running a tired hand through his curling locks and leaning back in his stool to wrap a hand around the freshly brewed cup of coffee. Hank thought to warn the detective of the slightly concerning 165 degrees fahrenheit his sensors discerned within the steaming cup but the man released a contented sigh the moment his hands curled around the ceramic container so the robot let the unspoken advisory statement die on his lips.

“You work too hard, Connor.” Jerry sighed with a twinge of concern wavering through his upbeat voice but all he received in response was a casual shrug and a light laugh. Meanwhile, Hank was diligently calculating the likelihood that both the coffee shop owner and Connor had some form of mental illness, or at least a serious case of short term memory loss, the android even going so far as to run a secondary facial scan over the newcomer just to ensure he hadn’t overlooked something but the details came back the same: _ Cove, Jerry. Birthdate: June 22, 2013. Criminal record: None. Owner of Jerries Java. _

The concerning man left after that, leaving Hank to sit patiently awaiting further instructions as Connor tugged his cigarette lightly from between his teeth for a moment in favor of bringing the still worryingly hot mug to his lips, steam yet billowing up from the burning liquid in great, flourishing whips that nearly shielded Detective Anderson’s face from view as he tipped it back against his pink lips. The cup was lowered again a moment later, an infinitely more relaxed expression painted softly over Connor’s features as the man slowly slipped his cigarette between his teeth once more and took a long drag on it before letting his head tip back slightly to blow the puff of smoke skyward in an arching cloud that dissipated into a light mist as it ghosted away in gentle, snaking tendrils.

“Detective,” Hank prompted after a moment, deciding to ignore the whole Jerry situation for the moment as it currently posed no problem and the android was much more concerned  with a more pressing issue. A soft “hm?” of acknowledgement from Connor bid the robot go on and Hank felt his features twist into an artificial reflection of disgust as he suspiciously eyed the new found problem with obvious distaste. “Why did you order that monstrosity?” Hank deadpanned, glaring at the petty excuse for a cake perched stonely atop the gray speckled saucer crafted to match the coffee mug. “I’ve scanned the menu and it certainly seems to be the most unappealing thing I could find on it.” The android elaborated in confusion, deciding it would be beneficial to their partnership to learn what process guided Anderson to make such poor decisions. 

“It’s got pineapple in it.” Connor dismissed with a shrug, glancing sideways at the confection before letting his chocolate eyes drift closed for a blissful moment as he brought his mug to his lips once more and drained an impressively large portion of the beverage in one fell swoop. Hank tried his best to ignore what other impressive things Connor had been eager to inform him he could do with his mouth. 

“Besides, Jerry could make cat shit taste like a gourmet filet mignon.” Connor added as an afterthought but, after a quick runthrough of the most likely outcome for each course of action, the android decided the first bit of information would be a better selection to comment on.  

“You like pineapples, Detective?” The machine inquired wonderingly, already beginning to pull the new piece of information up to file away in his quickly mounting Connor Anderson storage area but a sour face from the man in question halted the robot’s actions, Connor twisting his pink lips in a puckered frown around his cigarette and squinting one eye distastefully. 

“Not really.” The detective admitted softly with an awkward chuckle and a light pink tinge came to dust gently across his soft cheeks, painting the pale skin there a soft rose. “But, hey, a guy’s gotta hope!” Connor explained teasingly, waggling one eyebrow in an absolutely ridiculous display Hank again failed to file away as a flirt or an attempt at humor. 

“My sensors indicate you’ve never participated in sexual intercourse, Detective Anderson.” Hank stated easily, merely offering the simple piece of information up for consideration in light of Connor’s previous claim… The fact that Connor gagged on his own cigarette smoke was just an added bonus.

“The robo hunk’s got sensors to tell him I’m a 32 year old virgin.” Connor coughed dryly, struggling to get the deadpan words past the abrupt hacking his most recent feat brought forth. “Just lovely.” The man grumbled unhappily as his coughing finally began to subside and he could finally shoot a disgruntled glare the android’s way, though the absolute straight face, blank stare the detective received in return was likely not the reaction he had hoped and dreamed for.

“And what purpose did the dumb fucks up at Cyberlife think these wondrous sensors were going to serve exactly?” Connor demanded haughtily, glowering daggers into the table as he brought his now only half full coffee mug to his face, though this was likely only an excuse to cover his flaming cheeks as the detective made no moves to actually drink said beverage.

“My creators felt it would be beneficial for me to have as much information as possible about my adversaries to best exploit any available weakness.” Hank replied clinically, railing off the well known information without so much as skipping a beat, the android only pausing to evaluate the actual words when Connor gave a perturbed huff mid statement, the irritated breath of air blowing the curling steam billowing forth from the detective’s coffee forward in a dancing flurry of rapidly dissipating water particles. 

“I’m your adversary, huh?” The man quipped dryly, the question spoken in such a manner that one could easily blow it off as a joke if they so chose. Never trapping the other conversation maker or forcing an answer from them and always leaving a way out seemed to be Connor’s preferred style of communication. 

“It may not be the intended use,” Hank began carefully, cautiously picking each word by hand as nothing in his relations protocol lined up with what the android meant to say. “But I find it quite useful in the case of forming partnerships as well.” The android tried, unsure of what exactly he was trying to communicate but confident that Connor was not, in fact, what one would label an adversary by anyone’s standards. “Though I’ve never attempted to form a partnership before.” The robot added as an afterthought, the corner of his lip twitching oddly as the almost jovial words passed his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone again for your kind feedback ~ Y'all are da best >w<


	8. When a Multimillion Dollar Corporation Apparently Knows About Your Grindr Account

This must’ve been the right thing to say, for the tension that had come to build itself up in Connor’s shoulders wound itself out once more and a light blue arrow flitting across the android’s vision assured the machine his message must've been received correctly. “What else can you tell about me?” The detective inquired curiously after a moment, tilting his head to the side so that his curling hair fell with the motion and keeping his chocolate orbs locked questioningly with the android’s over his ceramic mug even as he took another slow slurp of coffee. 

Hank paused for a moment, running over all the information he had stored on Connor and sorting it away into valid conclusions in a series of lightning quick processes that would only be noticeable by a human in the quick cycle of yellow his LED ran through in reaction to them. “I know that you’re heavily dependent on caffeine, likely addicted to it as well as nicotine.” The android began, receiving not but a dismissive shrug and a giving nod from his companion before going on. “You carry yourself with an overbearing sense of apathy and behave in the workplace as if you’ve never heard the word professionalism in your life.” Hank tried to go on stoically but Connor quickly silenced him before the machine even had a chance to relay his findings in their entirety. 

“Forget I asked.” Connor deadpanned flatly, taking a long drag on his cigarette and turning his head to puff the smoke from the blow sideways, though this appeared to just be an excuse to turn his gaze away as the detective failed to bring his coffee orbs back from the random floorboard they’d come to rest on during his exhale. 

“I’m not finished, Detective.” Hank protested stubbornly, the corner of his mechanical lips tugging downwards in an artificial frown at being cut short mid report as he had much more to address than the simple facts he’d stated thus far. 

“Oh, joy!” Connor snorted sarcastically, rolling dark chocolate eyes back in a show of utter disinterest that his rising body temperature and stuttering heart rate easily betrayed as a lie. “Please, you flatter me too much. I can’t bare you go on!” The detective snarked dryly, satire dripping from every word like the pineapple syrup quite near smothering the disgusting excuse of a meal still sitting untouched on the plate before him as the man threw his head back so his brown hair flung wildly and placed a hand against his forehead in a dramatic mockery of a swoon.

Hank’s programming warred with itself for a moment, the need to amend his companion's opinion of what he was trying to say battling against Connor’s order to stop in a clash of commands that sparked like livid embers through the machine’s wires as they collided. “You’re well known for being one of the most promising detectives on the force,” The android finally pressed on eventually, the war within his code sizzling out as the task more relevant to his mission overid the compulsory need to follow the commands of the human he’d been assigned to. 

“You’re meticulous in your investigation and more than determined when you actually commit to an assignment.” Hank went on evenly, keeping his gaze steadily locked with the calculating stare of his companion as the machine recalled what he’d gathered from the case file he’d flicked through earlier and relayed the conclusions with confidence. “However, you seem to care too much, Detective, even about defective machines.” The android noted, squinting his stormy blue orbs slightly as he gazed upon the renowned detective, trying to pick the human apart with his stare alone and tear the man down to the very data that ran through the organic creature’s veins.

“It surprises me that you would choose this line of work with such a prominent trait so capable of clouding your judgment.” Hank finally concluded thoughtfully, analyzing and calculating every minuscule reaction he could glean from the man before him, filing away details down to the finest breath Connor released in search of pertinent information.

“I care too much not to.” The detective dismissed simply, shrugging his lean shoulders in a casual roll that left nothing else to be said and silence hanging between them once more. “So, you obviously know all there is to know about me,” Connor was surprisingly the one to break the quiet this time, though Hank would have to disagree with the flipant declaration and the robot was quite near certain there were still many things hiding behind the man’s soft smiles he did not yet know. “Tell me about you.” Detective Anderson prompted easily, pulling his cigarette to his lips once more to tug a slow breath of air through the thing as he eyed the android thoughtfully and twirled the shortening item absentmindedly between two fingers. 

“As you know, I’m a Hunt-Kill model android, currently registered under the name of Hank, specifically designed for this case.” The machine sounded off automatically, the preprogrammed response an easily accessible line of dialogue that could be enacted at a moment’s notice. “I’m built to function as an information source, a logical thinker, a forensic lab, an ideal partner...” Hank listed diligently but was cut off by his companion mid spiel. 

“Did you just say forensic lab?” Connor inquired abruptly, deep chocolate eyes glimmering with peaked interest as the kid took another slow drink of coffee that he let linger on his tongue a long moment before bringing the cigarette back between his parted lips. 

“Yes.” Hank verified stoically, feeling his lip do that odd twitch thing again before he forcibly straightened his expression back out. “I can analyse samples in real time for anything from composition to the time it was left.” The android elaborated clinically, pulling an impressed hum of acknowledgement from his companion as Connor nodded thoughtfully along to his words.

“Anything else I should know?” The detective prompted, pulling his nearly used up cigarette from between his lips to frown disappointedly at the tiny stub before reluctantly snubbing the blazing embers out against the edge of his plate where that Satan spawn of pineapple fuckery still yet sat undisturbed. 

“I have a multitude of functions.” Hank stated blankly, running through his own coding in search of anything particularly relevant he should relay and finding far too much to elaborate on any one thing in particular. “Is there anything specifically you would like to know?” The android questioned shortly, LED pulsing yellow as his programming slipped into a pending state, machines such as himself being particularly coded for such inquisition sessions and well adapt to simply fall into the protocol for patiently awaiting and confidently answering any questions their owner may have. Await question. Give answer. It was one of the simplest and primary lines of code written into an android’s system.   

“Most androids I’ve seen are designed to look,” Connor began slowly but then trailed off, averting his gaze and shifting about awkwardly as his teeth sunk lightly into his lower lip. “I don’t know,” The man tried again, apparently searching for the right words as he gave a soft hum of concentration before going on. “Young and beautiful.” The detective finally stated flatly, internal body temperature rising with the light flush of embarrassment once more as he finally let his tentative gaze flick momentarily back to the emotionless stare of the machine. 

“Yes.” Hank replied evenly, unsure of where exactly Connor was going with any of this as the robot could see no correlation between popular android designs and their mutual assignment. “Androids are often times crafted according to popular standards of beauty so that they are considered more visually appealing and thus desirable to the consumer populous.” Hank stated knowledgeably, LED still pulsing steadily yellow in awaitence of further question even if the actual topic of conversation no longer made much sense to the machine in terms of relevance.

“Then what’s with the whole hot, silver fox made sweet, slow love to a beefcake bear thing you’ve got going on?” Connor finally blurted sharply, obviously uncomfortable as his flushed cheeks darkened from a demure pink to a bleeding scarlet and his heart rate picked up a few paces as the words tumbled clumsily from his lips, all strung together with an absolute lack of punctuation in the detective’s flustered rush.

And if that sure didn’t knock Hank right the fuck out of his carefully coded “pending question” stasis mode. LED stumbling from its slow, yellow pulse to flicker rapidly for a moment before slowly cycling back to cool blue. Hank stared blankly at his companion for a pace longer than he probably should’ve as no line of code or preprogrammed response presented itself in the android's limitless data to counteract the unexpected question. 

“Well, as I said, detective, I was specifically designed for this mission.” Hank finally began again, hesitating over his words as a sharp jerk tugged his lips upwards before the machine could restrain the pointless action, the urge only becoming stronger as Connor merely sat and stared with his doe eyes widened to an absolutely bewildered deer in the headlights look. “And, vicariously, your partner.” The android added slowly, hoping to help pull his companion along to the conclusion if he offered up enough information but it appeared as if these wistful hopes were in vain. 

“Uh huh.” Is all Conor had to offer to the conversation, carefully wrapping both hands around the large coffee mug and drawing it cautiously to his lips to tip back a slow drink, chocolate orbs staying fixed carefully on the android throughout. 

Enough mercy. Hank was just gonna say it. 

“So, much of the data gathered for my design was taken from your Grindr profile.” The android stated simply, keeping his stoic gaze perfectly even as his eyes remained locked steadily with Connor’s over the rim of the cup as the man’s chocolate orbs widened to the size of the unfortunate saucer forced to bare the monstrosity of an untouched dessert. 

Connor promptly choked on his coffee, a wet splutter bursting forth from the guy’s throat as he jerked forward and let the gagging drink spill free from his lips in a splattering mess that ran down his face and dripped onto his white undershirt to mar the once clean fabric with dark, brown splotches. “My what?” Detective Anderson coughed breathlessly, still gaping in a strangled sort of croak as he reached frantically for the small pile of napkins conveniently placed atop the table and began feverishly wiping his face and the table before him where some of the wasted drink had fell to drip sporadically onto the sleek wooden surface. 

“Your account on Grindr, “ Hank restated flatly, his voice an even monotone even as Connor let out a distressed wheeze at the utterance of the name. “A popular dating app geared toward gay and bisexual men in search of other interested men-” The android read off, LED blinking a short burst of yellow to draw up an ancient Wikipedia page on the once popular dating service that had long since fallen from popularity as homosexuality was normalized and the need for such a specifically geared app was no longer necessary as other services began adding gender preference as a common question. 

“I know what Grindr is!” Connor all but yelped, pitch and tone skyrocketing to match the man’s torpedoing heart rate as his body temperature joined the race as well before the detective seemed to remember that they were in a public place and smothered his voice back to a mangled groan of dismayed humiliation as more than one pair of eyes turned to see the cause of the sudden disruption to the quiet atmosphere. 

“I would most certainly hope so, Detective.” Hank replied coolly, voice as uninformative as always even as his lips pecked up unintentionally. “Your account, xXTwinkBBYXx, was quite active back in 2024.” The android pointed out, LED cycling a continuous yellow as the machine brought up the account and leafed interestedly through the information listed there. After all, who knows when you might need to know your partner’s taste in men in your investigation?

“Please don’t ever let those words leave your mouth again.” Connor moaned exasperatedly, burying his face in his hands to hide the scarlet flush of his cheeks, though it looked like the detective might very well attempt to suffocate himself while he was at it. “Besides, all I found was creepy old fuckers.” The man added defensively, pulling his hands back from his face to cross his arms defiantly over his chest as he angrily slurpped a particularly noisy gulp of coffee. Hank never even knew someone could drink angrily until that moment. 

“You did specifically state that you were looking for older men, Detective.” Hank pointed out helpfully, trying his damndest not to actually smirk when Connor’s heart rate gave another startled jump and kicked up to a whole new notch of embarrassment the android never even knew someone could reach. The robot should probably warn his companion to bring his heartbeat down to a more stable level sometime soon as a pace that high prolonged for any length of time could potentially be harmful. 

“I meant like forties or fifties. Not 102!” Connor defended sharply, drowning his misery in a final gulp of coffee as he brought the mug to his lips and craned his neck backwards to catch every last drop before slamming the emptied mug loudly down on the table with an utterly disgruntled huff. 

“Then you’re in luck, Detective.” Hank informed with a distinct note of purposeful positivity to his usually stoic tones as Connor merely gawked at him as if the man could conceive no possible way anything positive could be gleaned from this situation. “Cyberlife specifically designed me in the semblance of a man perfectly fit to your preferred age range.” The android informed professionally, the impassive tones he spoke with only seeming to leave his companion more frustrated as the detective all but seemed to power down for a moment, eyes wide and lips falling agape but no actual response or reaction making itself known across the guy’s slack features. 

“Okay.” Connor breathed slowly after a long moment, letting his eyes flutter closed as he clasped his hands together in front of himself in some mockery of zen and drew in a deep breath through his nose before slowly blowing it back out again through his slightly parted lips. “Here’s what we’re gonna do.” The guy declared carefully, forcefully keeping his voice impressively even and controlled even as his heart rate pounded out a sporadic cadence in the corner of Hank’s vision. 

“I’m just gonna get back in my car, delete that profile I’d gladly forgotten about, and pretend I never heard a word of that.” Connor stated slowly, cautiously lowering himself from the stool with a soft thump as his feet hit the floor and beginning to make his way toward the door without giving Hank a chance to respond. 

“I can simply erase our previous conversation from my memory if that pleases you, Detective Anderson.” The android offered, pushing off his own seat to fall in pace behind his companion who was currently engaging in an intense stare off with the floorboards and appeared to be winning. 

“No.” Connor muttered immediately, his lilting voice wavering with keen notes of embarrassment tugging at the word but certain nevertheless. “Just, pretend.” The detective encouraged with a tired sigh, extending a hand out to grasp the large wooden handle of the oaken door as Hank simply nodded his agreement and followed along. Pretending was a healthy coping mechanism in comparison to the rest of Connor’s habits left sitting on the table behind him. 

“Dingus Con!” A chipper voice halted the pair’s retreat just as they were about to finally take leave of the dingy coffee shop, because normalcy just was far too good to be a constant in Hank’s short life. 

“Hey, Jerry!” Connor greeted enthusiastically, letting his hand drop from the door handle to turn around where the coffee shop worker yet stood, grinning widely at the detective with a mop in hand and sweat from the tedious work sticking his ginger hair against the markless skin of his pale right cheek where it was swept carefully towards. 

_ Cove, Jerry. Birth date: June 22, 2013. Criminal record: None. Owner of Jerries Java.  _ Proudly read the results of Hank’s desperate facial scan as a now all too familiar “How’ve you been?” spilled forth from Connor’s lips for the third time that hour alone. 

“Good! We haven’t seen you in awhile.” Jerry answered lightly, Connor stepping forward to grasp the guy’s free hand and tug him into a boyish shoulder bump of friendship as Hank calculated the probability of mental instability for both humans as a steady “98.7%”

“Sorry, Jer, Amanda’s really run me through the ringer this past week.” Connor admitted with an awkward laugh and Hank took a careful step back from the obviously disturbed pair, already beginning to pull up the form to report a case of insanity to the local authorities so that these men could get the help they clearly needed. 

“You work too hard, Connor.” Jerry huffed disapprovingly, shaking a scourging finger at the detective as Connor gave a jovial roll of his coffee eyes and merely waved the concerned words off with a vague gesture of his left hand, digits curling through the air as the raising of the limb caused the man’s large jacket sleeve to slip a tad bit lower than usual; but Hank was unable to catch another glimpse of the elusive tattoo as the detective lowered the hand once more in an instant and the huge sleeve slid back into its usual place, swamping the better portion of Connor’s wrists and the beginnings of his hand. 

“How goes the cooking classes? Getting any better?” Detective Anderson asked casually, smiling lightly at the man before them as if this bout of craziness were an everyday occurrence not worth batting an eye over. 

“I made myself a bowl of cereal yesterday and didn’t burn it quite so bad.” The ginger male informed proudly, beaming excitedly so that his green eyes crested up in happy hillsides  as Connor delivered him a hearty pat on the back of congratulation. “And what about you, Con? Finally nailed yourself a sugar daddy?” The coffee shop owner teased jovially, digging a playful elbow into the detective’s side as Connor merely gave an awkward laugh and shoved the guy gently, though Anderson’s heart rate did give a small flicker at the well aimed jest. 

“You know I’m not that lucky, Jer.” Connor dismissed with a satirical snort, crossing his arms over his chest and giving his chocolate eyes a long roll for good measure. “Hank here is just stuck with me for a case.” The detective informed, halting the android in his hurried process of trying to find the correct paperwork to send for this issue long enough to give the equally unstable man a curt nod of greeting which was returned with a pitying smile.

“I am so sorry, you poor, poor man.” Jerry conceded gently, reaching out an arm to lightly pat the android’s shoulder and gazing at the machine as if he were under the impression someone had just ran over Hank’s puppy with a lawn mower. 

“Ay, fuck you, Jerry!” Connor cursed jovially, flipping the store worker a quick middle finger before giving an indignant snort and turning towards the door once more to pull the thing open and let the glaring sunlight flood the grim darkness of the shop. Hank was honestly surprised a few of the patrons didn’t actually hiss, especially given the way Connor himself recoiled from the blazing glow, shrinking back slightly and shielding his eyes with his hand as if he hadn't seen the light of day in years. 

“See you, Jerry!” The detective paused to call back over his shoulder just as he stepped fully out into the burning light basking the pale sidewalk beyond, still holding the thick wooden door open with his hand and yelling far louder than need be considering Jerry was still standing right inside the doorway.

The ginger male still holding the mop extended his fingers from the wooden pole of the thing in a small wave and Hank eagerly surged forward to escape this hellish nightmare of a shop when…  _ Jerry _ popped up from the counter, apparently having been bent down to store some stuff below the cash register.

“Bye, Con-Man!” The new - or maybe the original? - Jerry called from his place behind the counter, leaving Hank to snap his gaze from one mirror image to the other when abruptly his wild processing was suddenly brought to a tire squealing halt by a third chime in. 

“Good luck, Connor!”  _ Jerry _ threw in, stepping out of the bathroom and adjusting his serving apron lightly as he spoke, lifting his gaze to throw the detective and his confused android accomplice a friendly wave that Connor returned easily before finally leading Hank out into the street. 

Hank followed silently, trailing Connor with his LED blazing a flashing yellow as he ran through the city database and pulled up the files he was looking for… The files came through, blinking transparently into the machine’s vision as he opened the passenger side door and cast a final glance back at the coffee shop, gaze fixing to the “Jerries Java” sign hanging slightly askew above the door. 

Fucking triplets. 

“Yep, best coffee shop in town.” Connor conceded lightly from beside the android as Hank settled himself as best he could into the passenger seat and turned to take in the amused glimmer lighting his companion’s eyes and the knowing smile painted across the human’s lips. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glad you all are still enjoying the story ~ I love seeing everyone's theories and speculation :)


	9. Unwritten Code

_ Cold, merciless, white neon cast the dark street in an unnatural glow, staining everything a sickly pale as it stretched fervently to lay claim to the land and slip in where darkness once  prevailed but its stretching arms failed to ever make it farther than the glass window its source lay trapped within. The flickering sign, buzzing into dimness with an electronic hum only to glare its way blazingly back into existence a moment later with the distinct sound of sparks, read Jimmy’s Bar, as did the noncomentable bold print letters stamped undecoratively across the large wooden door Hank stood before. _

_ No window to peep through existed on the sturdy, wooden surface of the thick built door, the only thing daring to disrupt the graying surface of the unwelcoming gateway a flimsy paper flyer that crinkled noisily as a texturless wind tore at its edges and threatened to rip the weak scrap free from its home. Hank brushed his fingers lightly against the flyer in an attempt to smooth it back out, trailing his fingertips along the bold, red text screaming an angry “No Pets” out at anyone who dare defy its unspoken warning.  _

_ The paper uncooperatively folded back over itself in the hold of the unfeelable breeze once more, a sensation that wasn’t quite there ghosting across the android's sensors where artificial chill should be whipping across them - Programmed incorrectly.  _

_ Because that’s what this place was: Programmed. _

_ Hank placed a large hand against the cool metal plate melding smoothly into the ivory exterior of the door - Too smoothly, no definition existing between the two entirely separate materials. Programmed incorrectly - and pushed against it, the wood moving compliantly under his grip to give way to the bar beyond with the barest touch of his shoulder to the heavy barrier.  _

_ The interior of the bar was dark, dimly lit by only a single row of overhead lights trailing above a tall wooden counter and a few vaguely glowing bulbs positioned behind the bar itself to highlight the glimmering bottles there, the weak illumination set in an odd green cast that gave everything a murky aura that left little clearly distinguishable. Though, not everything in the bar was designed with enough care to be entirely distinguishable anyway and looking at any background object for too long a time hurt even Hank’s mechanical eyes. _

_ The bar was empty, as it always was, but a vague soundtrack offered the noise one might expect to hear in a crowded bar in the inner city nevertheless. The sound of wood screeching against tile echoed through the still air yet not a single bar stool moved. The gurgle of a drink being poured bubbled merrily from the nearest booth where the poorly lit tables lined the wall but the slightly blurry glass that flickered on the edges remained perfectly empty where it sat on the wooden surface. The sounds of people talking echoed quietly through the empty room and the electronic beeps and cheerful dings of the arcade machine flickering over the same three basic panels in the far corner of the room rose and fell as if someone just won a game yet the same picture still shone through the screen and no one stood at the controls.  _

_ It was if someone had designed a level of a video game then dropped the project before adding the character overlay. _

_ One, tangible object existed in the nearly abandoned bar, however, solid and crystal clear where everything else was a gentle blur of laziness meant to meld gently into a vague scene unimportant to the main objective. A man of large build, dark skinned and balding, sat atop one of the high rise bar stools, gaze fixed to where a small screen hung behind the bar and flickered unsteadily through what appeared to be a Detroit Gears game, though buzzing static ran over the illuminated screen every few moments to hide the image and distort the announcers’ voices into a choppy, electronic mess of buzzy sounds and clipped jolts of strained audio. _

_ “Pass the damn ball!” The man screamed exasperatedly at the screen, throwing his arms up in utter annoyance as the players on the television failed to heed his command and let the ball switch back to the opposing team’s control.  _

_ “Fowler.” Hank stated the name flatly, standing just inside the bar with his hands clasped neatly behind his back as the android waited patiently for the man to acknowledge his presence.  _

_ “Shoot, goddammit! Shoot!” Jeffrey Fowler all but bellowed at the innocent television, glaring daggers into the screen as his fists slammed heavily into the blameless countertop and shook the nearby glasses resting atop it with the force of the uncalled for blow, the glassware vibrating in response until one such beer mug blinked out of existence in a glitch caused by the rough disturbance.  _

_ “Fowler!” Hank tried again, his voice a tad bit gruffer than before and raised some in volume as well as the AI he was supposed to report to remained blissfully oblivious to the android’s presence  _

_ “She’s just standing there!” Jeffrey balked incredulously, reeling back in his seat with a look that could only be described as absolute, horrified disgust painted across his face. “Why the hell is she just standing there?” The man barked furiously, whipping about in his seat to demand an answer and gesturing violently at the girl who was apparently just standing there as his dark eyes fell on Hank and fixed the android with a questioning glare. _

_ “I don’t know, Jeffrey.” Hank replied calmly, keeping his voice carefully controlled even as the man in question released an absolutely furious sound that apparently couldn't quite decide if it wanted to be a groan or a scream.  _

_ “Doesn’t matter.” Fowler eventually grumbled reluctantly, though the concession came directly after a muttered stream of unintelligible curses that implied otherwise. “We’re winning by a long shot anyway.” The man assured himself, turning back around on the stool to fix his gaze intently on the screen once more, his entire body tensed forward with the excitement of the game.  _

_ “Maybe she’s wondering why you brought me here.” Hank suggested evenly after a long beat of silence passed with no indication that Fowler had any intent of speaking to the android any time soon or even so much as drawing his eyes away from the Gears game again for that matter. Cyberlife and the carefully programmed AIs specifically designed to help the busy company handle their androids and guide the machines down the proper path had the capability to call any of their products into a digital arena of sorts anytime they so chose, often offering advice or helpful tips where they were warranted but also serving as a way for specifically designed models such as Hank to report important findings or general progress whenever Cyberlife desired it.  _

_ However, while this fictional facility was entirely necessary and a wonderful tool that, when used right, ensured maintained functionality and optimal effectiveness of all androids everywhere, it was often startling for nearby humans to see their android suddenly turn off without warning… And Hank could only imagine how Connor was reacting to the machine suddenly going brain dead in his passenger seat. _

_ “I brought you here to report, HK800.” Jeffrey stated simply, never taking his eyes off the screen as his dark orbs trailed every buzzy movement of the onscreen players. “What have you to tell me?” The man prompted demandingly, ebbing notes of leftover irritation still clinging to his deep tones and adding a harsh edge to his words.  _

_ “I have been officially assigned the case and have met with Detective Anderson.” Hank relayed professionally, the machine's voice flat and void of emotion as he stared straight ahead and relayed the requested facts with perfect clarity and confidence.  _

_ “Connor Anderson.” Fowler mumbled softly, rolling the name over his lips slowly as if trying to decide if he liked the taste of it or not, though the sharp, glowering grimace that twisted the man’s features a moment later indicated he decidedly did not. “Strange kid.” Jeffrey stated blankly then turned in his seat slightly to cast Hank a bored glance over his shoulders, the man’s features carefully controlled to reveal nothing.  _

_ “Whaddya think of him?” The AI questioned casually, resting one elbow against the bar counter to tap a single finger lightly against the deep wood every few minutes, the paced, slow action a stark contrast to the constant anxious fiddling Hank had been forced to endure all day. _

_ “He is…” The HK800 model android began but trailed off, searching his programmed vocabulary for any choice words to describe the detective and pulling a fatass blank, no one combination of words quite doing the befuddling man justice. Truth be told, Hank was uncertain he knew enough about Connor to form any solid conclusions about the guy past the basic facts he’d picked up from Google searches and case reports. _

_ “Interesting.” The android finally settled on carefully, nodding slowly along to the word once it had passed his lips as it made more sense than anything else the robot could come up with, even if it failed to even breach the surface of the absolute clusterfuck that was Connor Anderson.   _

_ “Elaborate.” Fowler insisted with a bored roll of his eyes and a vague wave of his hand, the AI’s digits tangling pointlessly through thin air as the limb made small encouraging circles through the empty space.  _

_ Goddammit Jeffrey.  _

_ “Detective Anderson is an intriguing case.” Hank restated tentatively, LED flickering yellow in a series of rapid blinks before cycling down to pulse a slow, steady rhythm out only to flare back up to sporadic flickering once more a moment later. “He is too emotionally involved in his work, which could easily cloud his judgment and pose a threat to the success of the mission if it is allowed to dictate how we undertake the case.” The android stated clinically, the critical analysis earning a thoughtful frown from Fowler who nodded along to the machine's words. _

_  “He seems generally troubled, but is well known for his previous work in dismantling Eden Club,” Hank continued on professionally, running through what facts and history the worldwide databases had to offer on the man and pairing the information carefully with what he himself had discovered over the past few hours in the human’s company. “Which leads me to the conclusion that he is a good detective and could be a useful asset to our mission.” The android finally concluded, confident in all he had said but awaiting Jeffrey's reaction to see what his AI in command had to say about the assessment as his judgment would override the prototype’s on any account. _

_ “Not dismantled.” Fowler commented flatly, expression unreadable as the AI beat the very tip of his finger down languidly against the wooden counter in that same steady rhythm without missing a beat. “Shut down.” The man corrected pointedly, leaning back against the counter some to better watch the android as if trying to assess the piece of machinery for some sort of reaction. “They were never able to put anything directly at Kamski’s feet.” Jeffrey reminded easily, the simple fact one already readily available in Hank’s database and well known to the android. Elijah Kamski, previous owner and operator of Eden Club was a slick man and had managed to keep his hands clean in all that had gone down in his club, profiting off other people's dirty work while always managing to stay clear of the crossfire himself. _

_ “I heard he’s opening back up soon on a clean slate.” Fowler informed the android whose LED flashed yellow a flicker of a moment before the machine dismissed the irrelevant information with a simple curt nod of acknowledgement. “Detective Anderson may be useful yet but I doubt he’ll be much more than a holdback.” Jeffrey concluded with a dismissive shrug, jerking his shoulder up once with a distinct air of disinterest as Hank merely offered another stoic nod, gaze ever unchanging and locked steadily forwards no matter what was said. _

_ “There’s been a homicide reported a few blocks from your current location.” Fowler informed shorty, glancing away at nothing in particular as the information supposedly carried through some unseen wires to the AI. “I’m sending you the coordinates. Go check it out. “ The man commanded flatly and the case details blinked into existence within Hank’s mechanical mind, a short burst of electronic contact shocking through the machine’s system before the feeling was gone, leaving only the transferred data in its wake. _

_ “Understood.” The android asserted militaristically, expression schooled ever forward and voice unemotive in the most mechanical way possible, as he was designed to be. _

_ “Do not let Connor Anderson get in the way of your mission, HK800.” Fowler warned once more and the bar dissipated around them as quickly as it had come, at first leaving only Jeffrey and the android in its wake, and then only Hank in the empty blackness of unwritten code.  _


	10. First Assignment

“Holy fuck!” Connor’s startled cry was the first thing that met Hank’s audio processors as the android jolted back into reality as the humans knew it, mechanical body jerking into alertness and stormy blue eyes shooting open without so much as a flutter to ease them back into the world.

The detective reeled back from where he’d been hovering all of about two inches from the machine’s face, assumably searching for the cause of the abruptly induced shut down as his hand still lingered in the air between them, long fingers extended as if to brush over the creation’s LED they now simply hovered motionlessly above. Connor let out a strangled exclamation that was indiscernible even to the highly advanced prototype’s keenly attuned sensors, heart rate stuttering in a quickened rhythm of distress and pink lips remaining tugged downwards into a firm frown as he jerked back into his own car seat, though his left arm remained resting against the middle console where it had been positioned to lean across the car to leave the man facing the android - Hank felt it a safe assumption to lay the reaction on the fact that his sudden reactivation had taken the detective off guard. It made sense.

Though Hank’s newly reawakened optical sensors had previously been obscured by a curling mop of messy hair and a concerned face pushing into the android’s space and leaving little room for anything else in the machine’s eyes, the robot could now determine his location to be the vaguely familiar interior of Connor’s car. On a much more concerning note however, the android found the vehicle to be parked worse than usually against the side of the road where barely so much as a shoulder existed to allow the car distance from where other drivers raced by at an alarming rate, fierce wind whipping the small hatchback into shuddering with each roaring pass.  

“What are we doing here, Detective?” Hank inquired evenly as Connor’s heart rate finally began to subside to a safer range and adopted a more stable rhythm, though the detective’s uneasy frown stayed firmly set in place even as the man averted his gaze, tongue bit gently between his teeth. “This is a hazardous location to remain in.” The android pointed out informatively, well prepared to go into the details pertaining to the exact speeds of the cars racing by and the unacceptably minuscule distance between the highway and their own perfectly destroyable bodies. 

“I see the cars just fine, Hank.” Connor snorted humorlessly with a slow breath blown between his lips to finish the satirical statement. “It’s just that,” The detective began unsteadily once more before letting his uncertain words trail off with a stressed sigh, silencing any argumentative facts the android may have been collecting in short term storage about the number of deaths caused by traffic incidents or the likelihood of a car swerving an inch or two off the road and adding a number to that steadily growing list. 

“You just,” The man began uninformatively, gesturing vaguely with his restless hands to no real purpose. “Crashed in my damn car seat!” Connor finally balked incredulously, heart rate keening back up a notch or two as if relaying the information had somehow made it all the more unpleasant. “I didn’t really feel like waiting ‘till the next gas station to see if you were still among the living. ” The detective snorted sarcastically, voice high with forced ease but yet betraying a touch of anxiety rooted deep within Connor’s lilting tones no matter how casual the man might’ve made himself appear with his arms crossed easily over his chest and a coy smile tugging at one lip.

Hank distinctly remembered being in the furthest most left lane of the five lane roadway the last he recalled and a concerning image of a panicked Connor swerving across four lanes of heavy traffic formed itself vividly in the android’s mind.

“My apologies if I upset you, Detective Anderson.” Hank offered apologetically - Rather than giving in to the compulsory command to remind the detective he was a machine and thus, in all fact, not among the living to begin with - the android’s voice softened a touch in lieu of the new information, though the smidge of gentleness probably had the effect of a snarling doberman trying to give paw. Yet Connor still gave a stiff shrug and a dismissive wave for the machine’s efforts, a tendency the robot had come to label as a habit for the young detective. 

“You’re good though?” Connor questioned with a hint of worry still clearly evident in his gently lilting tones, the words rising to small, light crests before dripping down to shady hollows once more as the detective cast his companion a sideways glance. “You sure I shouldn’t be heading towards the nearest five minute fix center or something?” The detective inquired in a teasing tone that did little to conceal the residual worry still lingering about the man as he slowly began steering the car back towards the roadway.

“My systems are all online and running at peak capacity.” Hank stated surely, his processors automatically running a rapid scan of his coding and physical being for any sort of malfunction and presenting negative results in all fields. 

“Good to hear.” Connor replied easily, shifting one shoulder and letting a notably less forced smile tug upwards at one corner of his lips as he blinkered his intent for all of about half a second before swerving them uncouthly back onto the crowded roadway with a sharp jerk of the wheel, not to mention an angry honk from the vehicle they fell in line before. “Though that leads me to my next question.” The detective segued inquisitively as he tapped a single, long finger against the sleek, black leather of the steering wheel in a series of quick, sporadic beats that reminded Hank of Fowler’s heavy digits falling against the fake, wooden surface of the bar just in how starkly different the two seemingly similar actions were.

“Where exactly is this train wreck chugging towards?” Connor questioned thoughtfully, chocolate orbs squinting critically at the innocent dashboard that had done nothing to deserve such meanness. “I suppose maybe a repair shop would be a good a place to start as any actually and maybe you could grab a quick check up while we’re there.” The man wondered aloud, not really seeming to be speaking so much to the android as his eyes remained steadily elsewhere and no pause was given between thoughts for a reply to be offered. 

“Though maybe a build-a-bot shop would actually be a better place to begin.” Connor mumbled thoughtfully under his breath, finger beating against the unfortunate steering wheel a little bit harder as he ran through suggestions, the action coming to remind Hank of an android's LED in the way it indicated the detective’s mind reeling much as the glowing light on the side of the mechanical man’s head indicated his own internal processes. “I mean, that is where it all starts, yeah?” Detective Anderson questioned keenly, actually turning to cast an inquisitive glance Hank’s way as the machine clicked the words into place and figured out that “build-a-bot shop” somehow translated into “Cyberlife” in the confounding mechanisms of the human’s mind.

_ Connor rambles,  _ filed itself neatly away in the slowly mounting selection of facts and conclusions drawn about the human in question before Hank actually went on to respond. “Deviancy does not begin on the product line, Detective.” The machine informed confidently, LED flickering a brief flash of yellow as the man-made creation brought up the information he had stored on deviants and the condition itself in a folder labeled “Vital” in the forefront of his storage unit, far in front of the marginally unimportant Connor Anderson section of memory. “The malfunction arises only after-”  Hank tried to elaborate but was cut off only a few words in to his well memorized report. 

“After an emotional shock.” Detective Anderson finished for the android, lilting voice thoughtful as Hank merely sent a questioning look of silence the man’s way rather than an actual response. “I looked into it after the whole Daniel thing.” Connor explained hastily after a moment, seeming to notice the machine's gaze upon him and in turn averting his own coffee orbs, suddenly far more intent on keeping his eyes on the road like any other responsible driver than Hank had yet to see him. 

“Why is that, Detective Anderson?” The android pressed with a careful detached calm to his words, the machine finding the obscure fact relevant to his main mission as well as perhaps some window into the man he was supposed to play partner to’s unexplored mind. 

“Because it felt wrong to put a bullet in something that acted so human.” Connor stated flatly, simply even, as if the detective couldn’t quite seem to fathom why this question would need to be answered and was tired of doing so. A nervous tick jostled the detective’s leg where it rested over the gas pedal and the man pushed his foot down upon the metal plate to speed them up even when the guy was yet to choose a destination. 

“I assure you, Detective, deviants are not human.” Hank relayed stoically, professionalism creeping in to fill every crack and corner of the machine’s tone. “What you saw was an emulation of emotion, just an error in programming.” The android asserted clinically, voice cold and unwavering in its utter surety as the simple fact rested at the very core of the machine and directed nearly every action the prototype took, down to this very conversation. 

“A one where a zero should be?” Connor questioned tonelessly, swerving into the lane alongside their own to overtake a vehicle responsibly going only a few miles above the speed limit and vicariously causing an earsplitting screeching of tires to explode from behind them where another driver slammed their brakes to only barely miss nicking Connor’s wayward vehicle. 

Hank merely gave a stoic nod as Connor failed to even flinch at the noise left in his wake, as if the guy were inherently toneless to the sound and wholeheartedly oblivious to the other drivers and their noisy irritation. 

“That malfunctioning machine,” Connor began slowly, speaking the title with evident distaste and a keen note of disbelief. “Used its dying breath to tell me I lied to him.” The detective stated flatly, finger tapping against the steering wheel in an explosive rhythm that sounded as if someone were trying to convey mind blowing orgasm through morse code.

Hank’s LED flickered yellow, blinking rapidly for a flash of a moment before cycling back to natural blue, so quick there was a chance Connor didn't catch it and the android himself all but ignored it entirely. “A one where a zero should be.” The machine agreed coldly, forcing his face into a stony picture of strict professionalism and willing away any evidence intent on conveying anything other than that absolute truth.  

Connor cast a long look over at his mechanical companion, brown eyes unabashedly analyzing and intense in their prodding stare and leaving the android to wonder if his code itself were somehow on display before the detective’s prying eyes; but after an agonizingly slow minute, the man mercifully relented. “You’re the expert, Hanky Panky.” Detective Anderson slowly dismissed with a stiff shouldered shrug that jerked his arms uncouthly upwards in a harsh line of motion before heavily rolling his shoulder blades back in an unnecessarily slow circle as if the man himself were trying to roll any lingering thoughts down off that slow shrug.

“Doesn’t answer question numero uno though.” Connor quipped lightly, forcibly dragging the pair past their last line of discussion and back to his first initial inquiry of a destination by a tight leash that offered no way back to their previous heavy topic of the constitutions of humanity.  A stark shift, most certainly, but not one Hank had any notion to resist.

“I have been informed that there was a homicide reported not far from our current location.” Hank answered stoically, never blinking from his strict disinterest even as Connor choked on a breath of air and turned to cast the robot an absolutely incredulous stare. “Android involvement is suspected.” The prototype police droid went on to inform clinically, LED pulsing a slow, steady yellow as the machine read what little information Fowler had to offer him on the attack and could draw from it not much more than that simple fact. The report was too new and very little had been found by the policemen already investigating the scene, the android supposedly having fled long before anyone arrived with little trace remaining to give lead to the suspected murderer’s location. 

“I believe that would be a good place to begin our investigation.” Hank concluded finally, gaze schooled strictly forward as the robot ended the declaration with a sure nod and awaited Anderson's expected agreement.

“Are you sure you’re not psychic, Robocop?” Connor inquired instead, sounding entirely unconvinced as he turned slightly in his seat to cast the android beside him a narrowed eyed look of utter disbelief.

“I’m sorry, Detective.” Hank apologized evenly, feeling his lip glitch out with that unnecessary tug once more as the android let his own gaze flick over to his companion for a moment, stormy blue eyes fixed coolly on Connor with a determined stare, though in search of what, the machine was unsure. “I’ve been informed a magician never reveals their secrets.”


	11. Lighters and Lifesavers

The apartment complex detailed in the case report was a few miles into the inner city, which meant it should've taken the pair approximately an hour to make their way through the tight, overcrowded streets and past the overwhelming number of traffic stops meant to keep the overpopulated place in some semblance of order. With glowing traffic lights sporadically blinking a new color every few moments like some cheap rave show on crack and hoards of people bustling across the roadway in huge, mounting herds, the entire city was a perfect picture of controlled chaos but, of course, the fault in that mesmerizing sort of image was that all it took was one gear in the huge machine to be misplaced and the entire metropolis would come tumbling to its knees... 

Hank could not fail this mission.

However, despite the android’s perfectly reasonable estimate of an hour, Connor was whipping the car into a shitty excuse for a parallel parking job before the building in twenty minute’s time… And the detective’s passenger side overhead handle was all but demolished. 

The silver walled building the vehicle lay before rose up many stories above the street so that its peak was nearly indiscernible from the ground below, the sleek exterior fading into the pale, fuzzy gray of the overcast sky above. Large, glass paned windows lined every layer of the sprawling complex, many hanging wide open to let in the crisp, cool air of the November chill but others shut up tight and layed over with thick, heavy curtains to conceal whatever may go on behind those secretive walls. The only place this consistent pattern of sleek wall fit tight against sheer glass was disturbed was in the very front and center of the building, where two, huge, glass doors hung wide open, the large entryway crossed over with transparent, yellow glow of digital police lines and guarded by a single man standing alongside the open doorway.

Even from where Hank began pulling himself uncouthly from the cramped interior of Connor’s car, the android could see the man looked far from friendly. Scruffy stubble patched unattractively across the guy’s drawn face where his thin lips twisted down into an arrogant frown and when his sharp, grey eyes fell on Connor’s burgundy hatchback the look deepened into what could only be described as a disgusted sneer. An automatic facial scan identified him as an Officer Gavin Reed, charged with numerous public disturbances and a lone case of public indecency (Details included loudly suggesting to an officer trying to give him a parking ticket to place their mouth upon an indecent part of his body then proceeding to offer said body part for consideration, according to a file paired with the man’s information.)

“Oh, wonderful.” Connor mumbled dryly as his gaze found the sneering man and his pink lips tugged down into a bored grimace, resolute sigh escaping the detective as the man gave the door handle a sharp tug and the metal barrier popped open with a heavy, metallic click. Detective Anderson slipped easily through the driver side door, slimmer built body maneuvering about the cramped space with fluid ease and putting the robot to absolute shame as Hank all but tumbled out into the street beyond, the android hastily rewriting his sloppy posture into its normal state of strict professionalism and giving the sleeve of his suit jacket a straightening tug to reinstate some semblance of neatness to his look.  

“Well look who finally decided to show up,” Officer Reed sniped coldly as Connor finally stepped onto the sidewalk and began to approach the building, the detective’s face conveying nothing but bored disinterest but the subtle hunch of his slender shoulders easily cluing Hank into his assigned partner’s masked discomfort. “Captain Stern’s loyal lap dog.” Gavin snarked distastefully, cold smirk tugging at his thin lips. “What? She get tired of you licking her shoes?” The man teased cruelly, cold snicker breaking through his merciless words. “Or did she finally admit she can’t stand you?” The policeman sneered viciously, glaring daggers into the young detective as if Connor had sprouted horns and began chanting prayers of darkness right there on the street. 

“Nah, not yet.” Connor played off easily with a dismissive shrug, light smile still tugging determinedly at his pink lips no matter how forced it may read on Hank’s sensors. “I’m just here to make sure somebody actually competent takes a look around.” The detective retorted lightly, even going so far as to throw a companionable nod Gavin’s way as he stepped around the man and passed through the luminescent police lines, smoothly sidestepping the foot the police officer threw in his path without so much as glancing downwards.

Hank trailed his companion wordlessly, not so much as even throwing an acknowledging glance Officer Reed’s way as the android moved through the doors in Connor’s wake. However, the machine had made it not but a step when a harsh beeping blared through the quiet air, a repetitive, vibrating buzz that bellowed forth from some unseen source as the vivid streak of opaque, yellow light flashed to an angry red and drew the prototype to an abrupt halt. 

“No toasters welcome, tin can.” Gavin informed coldly, uncrossing his arms to extend one before the machine, blocking Hank from progressing any further without confrontation. The policeman glared up at the robot with the type of defiance that only comes from weakness glinting viciously in his gray eyes, a long scar slashed across the bridge of the man’s wide nose becoming all the more prominent as his face scrunched up in a snide sneer and his lips twisted into a mangled excuse of a cruel smile. 

“For fucks sake, Gavin.” Connor huffed exhaustedly, coming to a halt a few paces from where Hank had gotten stopped and turning on a heel. “Could you maybe not be a complete asshole for, like, two seconds?” The detective questioned incredulously, retreating the few steps back to the doorway to knock the policeman's extended arm dismissively out of the way and grab Hank by the sleeve in the same motion. “He’s obviously with me.” Connor huffed tiredly, dragging the android past the police line and pulling him along towards the elevator before Officer Reed could put up anymore of a fight. 

“Wow. A mechanical babysitter.” Gavin sneered teasingly but Connor gave no answer, still determinedly tugging Hank along in a straight B-line for the steel doored lift waiting on the far side of the building’s lobby without pausing to even spare the guy a glance back for the jibe. However, this lack of reaction only seemed to irritate Reed farther, the man giving a low growl and lurching forward a step before seeming to remember they were all in a professional environment and shifting back to his previous post with a final grumble of “Fucking androids, there's not a job they won’t take.”

Connor pressed a single digit into the small, circular button alongside the elevator, beige plastic fit snugly into sleek silver that lit up to glow a pale blue when met with the light pressure of the detective’s fingertip. A soft ding rung out through the empty lobby and the sleek metal doors of the lift slid open with a metallic whirr of motion, allowing Detective Anderson to step inside with Hank on his heels before sliding smoothly closed once more at another press of a button, taking Gavin out of the picture - And with him, all of Connor’s faux indifference. 

“If I could just live the rest of my life without ever laying eye on Gavin’s ugly mug again, I would be the happiest man alive.” Connor sighed exasperatedly, shoulders slumping heavily under a relieved sigh as the elevator began to rise, taking the pair towards the top floor of the building where the homicide was reported to have taken place. “Sorry ‘bout his dickery, Robocop.” The detective offered apologetically, reaching a hand into his pocket and producing his lighter a moment later, sleek silver catching the dim, fluorescent lights overhead in a brilliant reflective glare that flashed in and out of existence as Connor purposelessly rolled the thing about the palm of his hand.

“Do not concern yourself, Detective.” Hank dismissed evenly, hands coming to rest behind his back in their usual place of professionally clasping one within the other. “I am perfectly aware of the opinion some humans hold on androids.” The machine went on stoically, sparing a glance over to Connor to watch the man spin the lighter over his fingertip before tossing it lightly into the air only to catch it again a moment later. “And I must remind you, I am incapable of emotion. Such words have no effect on me.” The android concluded stiffly just as the elevator began to slow though all he received in response for his efforts was an entirely noncommentable sound he couldn’t quite describe as a grunt or a “mhm.”

“May I ask your opinion on the matter, Detective Anderson?” Hank inquired after a beat of silence passed between them, deciding his assigned partner’s opinion on such a controversial subject would be a valuable piece of information and could offer some helpful insight into the human’s character. 

“I became a detective to help people.” Connor replied immediately, apparently not needing even a moment to consider his answer as the words poured confidently from his lips the moment Hank questioned him. “If an android can do a better job of that, then I’d gladly hand over my badge in an instant.” The detective asserted surely, no hint of waiver or hesitation in his  lilting voice and the words coming up as an absolute truth on Hank’s sensors as silence fell between them once more in the wake of the solemn declaration.

Finally, the elevator lurched to a rough halt, jerking in place a bit as it slowed and then came to rest far above the ground floor with a mechanical groan. The jostling motion sent Connor stumbling a bit, the man’s body falling forward an inch and his arms flying out to the side a centimeter until one hand caught the sleeve of Hank’s suit jacket and the detective pulled himself back into an upright position with the stabilizing grip, the android completely unaffected by the rough jerk of the elevator as his internal balancing components instantly countered the destabilizing motion.

The metal doors of the elevator slid apart as Connor’s fingers quickly untwisted themselves from the material of Hank’s suit and jerked back away from the android as if the cloth had burned him. “Uh, sorry.” The detective managed to mumble out awkwardly, coffee eyes widening a fraction and full cheeks flushing a light pink before the man quickly fled the lift, all but scrambling to escape the scene and swerving off down the hallway before Hank could assure his companion he was unbothered by the action.

The android was prepared to follow but just before he could step foot from the elevator and into the beige carpeted hallway beyond, something odd caught his keen eyes: A small, metallic glint shining brilliantly against the dark, evergreen floor of the elevator. Hank reached down a large hand and plucked the tiny item from the floor, instantly recognizing it as Connor’s lighter the moment he drew it up from the ground and could actually see it for what it was. The human had probably dropped it when he’d stumbled and grabbed for Hank, based off the item’s position near the door and off to the side of the elevator floor that lead the android's automatic reconstruction of events.

The lighter was heftier than Hank had anticipated, a solid weight against the palm of his hand as the android curled his digits over the small item and ran a quick scan of the thing in search of anything particularly noteworthy about it.  _ 100% steel. Essential lighting component: Spark wheel - Damaged. Produced in the year 2023. Well used…  _ Nothing all that essentially helpful prevailed in the rapid onslaught of facts and findings running across Hank’s vision in pale, opaque letters as the android rolled the small device around to examine the opposite side and finding nothing new of note there either. However, when the machine turned the device over to give the underside of the lighter a quick glance, the android finally found some disturbance in the sleek, nicked up metal. 

Two letters: N and A - Carved in bold, jagged lines marred the underside of the lighter, the sleek, silver distributed by the series of deep cuts marking out the letters directly in the center of the flat bottom of the thing. The font was neater than the scrawl Hank had seen smudged across the pages of Daniel’s case file on Connor’s desk, the lines a little straighter and the strokes a little smoother than what the android had come to identify as Connor’s handwriting.

_ Not Connor’s?  _ A notification appeared in the corner of Hank’s vision; but just as it did, the detective himself came skidding back to the elevator to bring the android’s attention away from the device as the human slammed himself to a halt with a heavy hand against the elevator doorway.

Panic was written clearly all over Connor’s face, sending off numerous alerts in Hank’s field of vision as the android took in the man’s rocketing heart rate and already pale skin turned paper white. The human’s chocolate eyes were wide and troubled but the moment they locked on the small chunk of glinting metal still resting in Hank’s hand it all washed away to intense, unadulterated relief. “Oh my god, you found it!” The detective breathed softly, voice strained as he reached out two, shaking hands and the android carefully delivered the fallen lighter into them.

“You’re a lifesaver!” Connor declared shakily, clutching the small item close to his chest and squeezing the tiny metal thing like a lifeline, knuckles going white with the sheer force of his desperate grip. 

The android opened his mouth to correct the misinformation but never got the opportunity to do so, forced to let his mouth fall shut once more as Connor shook his head firmly, coffee eyes locking with Hank’s stormy blue to fix the android with an intense look of unwavering determination, his chocolate orbs glimmering with gratitude as the residual panic finally began to drain from their gaze.

“Don’t give me that bullshit about only being an android.” Connor insisted surely, tucking his lighter safely back away in the deep recess of his pocket as his panicked heart rate slowly began to subside once more. “You really are a fucking lifesaver, Hank.” The man said again, the seriousness of his voice and the gratitude glimmering in his eyes leaving no room for argument, so Hank didn’t bother to try.

“You’re welcome, Detective.” Hank replied simply, the luminescent LED glowing against his temple flickering a short burst of pale yellow before fading to cool blue once more.


	12. S***w@r* I*st@b**i**

With all the unprofessional and generally apathetic behavior Connor had displayed in the few hours Hank had known him, the android had to admit he had his misgivings about being partnered with the man who seemed too tired to do anything but drink coffee and smoke. However, the moment the detective walked down the carpeted hall and wrapped a hand around the gold toned metal doorknob separating them from the crime scene, it was as if someone had flipped a switch in Connor’s mind. 

“Stay behind me.” Detective Anderson commanded softly, dropping his voice to a cautious whisper yet still speaking in such a tone that no room was left for argument, even if Hank had possessed the capacity to do so. As it was, the android was a machine, programmed to obey orders without question and the detective’s command flashed across the prototype’s vision in bold, red letters until Hank obediently took his place behind his assigned partner. Even still, the mechanical man’s logic went against the order, the android wanting to inform the detective that it would, in all fact, be much safer to let Hank go first - The android was, by anyone's measure, stronger and better equipped to handle violent attack - but his programming barred even the slightest protest from passing the machine’s lips. Still though, that didn’t stop Hank from privately thinking Connor probably looked like a marshmallow trying to defend a boulder. 

Connor reached a hand back and knocked aside the low hanging hem of his jacket to reveal the steel sheen of a handgun, the detective wrapping slim fingers over the grip and threading one through the trigger guard to pull the thing from where it had been safely holstered under his coat, the clever, baggy material effectively concealing the weapon from even Hank’s keen eyes. The detective drew the thing forward, keeping the barrel pointed steadily ahead of the pair as he finally twisted the metal knob and slowly pushed the wooden door forward, eliciting a low groan from the old hinges that echoed eerily through the empty hallway.

A great burst of motion exploded forth from the newly opened door, a flurry of noisy movement indistinguishable in the moment as something flew forth from the doorway and swallowed Detective Anderson whole. Connor shrieked, the sound of a gun going off exploding deafeningly through the small room as the detective lurched back at the sudden onslaught and stumbled directly into where Hank still stood at his back. 

Hank grabbed the man as he fell into the android, wrapping a large hand firmly around either of the human’s upper arms to restabilize him the moment he was in reach. However, a moment later, the android’s impeccable processors caught up with the machine’s knee jerk reaction and he was actually able to analyze the scene for what it was… And what it was happened to be a huge flock of pigeons flying forth from the room to crowd the hallway beyond in a great, cooing mass. The birds fluttered in and out of the newly opened door, landing on the evergreen carpet to hop pointlessly about with no real destination, cocking their tiny heads to the side and pecking uselessly at the ground in search of food.

“Jesus Christ kissing Elton John on M fucking TV! Are you serious?” Connor all but growled angrily, waving his hands frantically at his soft hair that a pigeon had mistaken for food and was now trying to tug at, one curling lock stuck determinedly between the bird’s sharp beak as it perched atop the detective’s head and fluttered angrily at the man’s futile attempts to wave it off. “Why the hell are there this many goddamn birds in one place?” Anderson groaned unhappily, pulling his gun back up to its previous position and continuing on into the room with an exasperated huff after Hank helpfully removed the pigeon from his companion’s hair and the bird fluttered to the floor to yank at a stray thread rather than the sensitive strands of Connor’s curling locks.

“Oh god, there’s more of them.” Detective Anderson moaned unhappily as they finally stepped into the room and well, wasn’t that just the understatement of the year? There wasn’t a surface of the apartment not overcrowded with pigeons, the gray birds fluttering to flee the newcomers with each falling footstep they took, though a few brave feathered souls hopped valiantly forward to give Connor’s shoes an experimental peck every few moments only to receive a frantic shake of said shoe and a displeased groan at every attempt. 

“Do you not like pigeons, Detective Anderson?” Hank inquired wonderingly as he watched Connor shoo away what had to be the twelfth bird from his curling locks of hair, the pigeons seeming to have an affinity for the detective no matter what his opinion on them may be.

“No, nothing against the birds.” Connor huffed distractedly as a pigeon landed on his shoulder only to be brushed stubbornly off a moment later. “I don’t like anything in large numbers.” The man explained awkwardly, giving an uncomfortable laugh and an awkward scratch to the back of his head as he finally began to lower his gun as no immediate danger presented itself on the scene. “Weird, I know.” The detective laughed off embarrassedly, shrugging his shoulders stiffly as he began to roam his coffee orbs slowly over the scene.

“Are you saying you are intimidated by the pigeons, Detective Anderson?” Hank questioned with notably less chill frosting his words than his voice usually held as the corner of his lips ticked up against his will and they wavered into a sorta grimace that not even the most merciful of grandmothers could pityingly call a smile. 

Connor, however, must’ve somehow been more forgiving than any sympathetic elderly woman for the detective merely threw the machine a jovial middle finger as his own pink lips peaked up to return the look in full, a sharp blue arrow dancing across Hank’s vision as the man finally got to work. Detective Anderson moved slowly to the far side of the room, gaze critical and gouging into every minuscule item as he went as if every piece of bird shit littering the ground was vital evidence that needed to be cataloged at the very forefront of the human’s brain.

Connor came to a slow halt just before where a huge cluster of pigeons swamped some bulky piece of furniture, the detective cocking his head slightly to the side so that his curling hair fell softly that way before waving an arm in front of the unknown structure to shoo away the fowl that currently shielded it from view. The birds cooed fearfully at the disturbance and fluttered hastily out of the way, a noisy woosh of many creatures moving fluidly with each other in the same moment until the item they’d been hiding was revealed for all the world to see. 

Except, it wasn’t an item. A man lay propped against the wall, his weighty body bloated with latent death and his face gray and ashen with the onslaught of decay. The victim's stomach was a mess, gray t-shirt slashed open and the fraying cloth stained crimson at every jagged edge to reveal huge, gaping gouges torn through leathery skin and rotting gore beginning to spill forth from the festering wounds. A quick scan of the murdered man’s face, frozen in a look of everlasting horror, revealed him to be a Travis Ortiz, convicted of domestic abuse and reoccurring drug use. 

Connor seemed impressively unfazed, the man’s heart rate failing to even betray the slightest stutter as he crouched down level with the victim and let his coffee eyes roam over the injuries littering the deceased individual’s bloating stomach. “Stabbed twenty eight times, quite roughly I might add.” The detective began slowly, turning his head to the side to gaze critically at the fatal wounds without so much as recoiling from the disgusting scent of decay Hank’s olfactory sensors warned the android of.

“Which means our murderer was acting out of emotion.”  Connor asserted thoughtfully, carefully reaching out a tentative hand to prod gently at the victim’s wrist until it rolled over with a soft squelch. “This wasn’t planned.” The detective mused as Hank took a few steps forward to examine the scene as well.

“Detective, I would recommend not touching that.” The android tried to suggest but Connor was apparently too deep into whatever thought process had laid claim to the man’s head space to even so much as acknowledge the robot’s words. 

“Bruising over the wrist, about the size of someone’s fingers I would say.” Connor mumbled to himself before slowly pushing back to his feet, standing still for only a moment to rove his eyes over the room before something must’ve caught their gaze and the man was on the move again. “Traces of black foam on the palm of his hand too.” The detective noted softly, giving the victim a final glance over his shoulder before moving on to the rest of the small room. 

“Signs of a struggle?” Hank tried to add helpfully, diligently trailing Connor as the man strode quickly towards whatever had caught his eye. The android had been programmed solely for the elimination of deviants, leaving the actual investigation mostly up to Detective Anderson - which was one of the main reasons the machine had been partnered with the detective to begin with - so there was really only so much Hank could offer.

Connor spared a glance back at the android as Hank spoke but the moment the man’s eyes fell upon the machine, his face broke from its rare expression of subdued thoughtfulness to a stunned look of silent shock before it abruptly broke into an amused grin disturbed only by a humorous snort. “Oh my fuck, you look like a statue in the goddamn park!” The detective snickered, stepping forwards a pace to extend an arm out to the robot who merely watched confusedly for a moment until Connor actually proceeded on with his action, waving a hand over the android’s shoulders until an explosion of noisy flapping burst forth right beside the android’s mechanical ears.

“Thank you, Detective.” Hank offered stiffly, shoulders arching and hands instinctively finding themselves held behind his back as Connor stood on tiptoes to wave a hand atop the machine’s head until another short burst of fluttering could be heard and the detective finally retreated to return his focus to whatever held it in the first place.

“No problem, Hanky Panky.” Connor dismissed with a pleased grin and a pair of finger guns that were not only ridiculous but also woefully inappropriate considering a dead man lay not but a few feet from the pair. “And, yeah, signs of a struggle - but more importantly, signs that someone may have been trying to stop him from doing something.” Connor explained carefully, bending down once more and gently shooing away a few more pigeons that had been perched upon something metal glimmering gently in the dim light of the dingy apartment. “Not always, of course, but bruising on a victim’s arms and wrists can sometimes imply the attack was in self-defense.” The detective went on quietly, brushing a few spare feathers away from what turned out to be a metal baseball bat, dented in the middle and chipped up in more than one place so that what was once sleek silver was now smudged and roughed up beyond repair. 

“Black foam grip.” Hank commented slowly, eyeing the base of the bat analytically as his LED flickered yellow for a cycle, the android processing the new piece of information and slowly beginning to draw to the conclusion Connor was leading him to: The murder might’ve been in self defense. 

Hank was just about to comment on this suggestion when something caught his eyes, drawing the android’s attention away from the bat and towards where a large window was thrown wide open to let in a chilly breeze. The opening was considerable, definitely large enough for a full grown man to fit through and likely how the murderer escaped, not to mention probably the way all these damn pigeons had gotten in. It was not, however, the open window itself that caught the mechanical man’s attention but rather something small twitching jerkily on the ground before it. 

Hank moved slowly over to the oddity, keen eyes quickly finding it to be a pigeon as he approached, though this was entirely not surprising whatsoever as over 73% of the things in this apartment happened to be pigeons at the moment. This particular bird, however, was inherently damaged by the android’s calculations as it flopped uselessly on the ground in a pathetic attempt to distance itself from the machine as Hank approached, one wing dragging the floor and leaving a sticky crimson trail in its wake.

The android knelt down to better examine the bird that merely cooed angrily at his presence and shuffled a pace farther before finally giving up and slumping to a halt once more, once white feathers stained dark and matted with crimson blood all down its left side. Upon closer inspection, a large hole existed in the creature’s side just where its wing connected with its body, the mangled injury revealing white bone and torn muscle where the joint connected the flying component to the rest of the thing’s small body. It only took a short reconstruction to determine that the unfortunate bird had likely caught the bullet from Connor’s panicked shot when the sudden flock of pigeons startled the detective upon entering the room. 

“Find anything, Robocop?” Connor questioned eagerly, light footsteps floating their way into the android’s audio processor as the man approached and the machine failed to hide the dying bird before the human was upon the scene. The detective’s excited footsteps fell to a staggering halt, the guy’s lilting voice dying out on a soft croak as his deep chocolate orbs fell on the gory picture before him and widened a fraction. “What happened?” Detective Anderson questioned gently, crouching down beside the machine to gaze pitying at the suffering creature as it gave a soft coo and a weak flutter at the added presence before falling still once more. 

Hank froze up, he knew exactly what happened… Yet the android found himself reluctant to convey his findings to his companion as he was near certain Connor wouldn’t react too awful well to knowing he was the cause of this. “I,” The machine began reluctantly, LED spinning a frantic yellow against his temple as the prototype fought within himself, priorities conflicting with one another and leaving him silent. Hank’s programming dictated he tell the truth, androids were made not to lie to their human masters, but… “I don’t know, Detective. I found it like this.” The android replied hastily, the words strained as they forced their way through his lips with a fight. 

“Shit.” Connor muttered sadly, coffee eyes dismayed and sympathetic as they gazed upon the pathetic creature. “Maybe we can help it?” The man tried hopefully, leaning forward to get a closer look at the bird’s wound but always careful not to touch and instantly pulling back when his presence caused the pigeon to struggle and vicariously only begin to bleed out a little faster, crimson blood oozing steadily from the injury to stain the wooden floor below a deep, murky brown.

Hank ran a quick scan of the creature but the results were not promising. The thing’s chest cavity had been punctured and more than one vital organ had been damaged beyond repair upon the bullet’s entry, there was no hope for the unfortunate pigeon. “I’m sorry, Detective. My analysis shows there is a 0% chance of survival.” Hank stated flatly yet the machine found his gaze steadily fixed to the blood stained floorboards below to avoid seeing Connor’s face as he relayed the grim readings. Though that didn’t spare the android from the soft “Oh,” that escaped the human, the noise quiet and sad in a way the made Hank quite near tempted to erase the sound from his memory entirely. 

“We can’t just leave it here to bleed out.” Connor insisted unhappily, his stress levels and heart rate both steadily ticking up in the corner of Hank’s vision only to spike drastically as the bird gave a pathetic chirp and flopped weakly an inch away. 

Hank could. Hank  _ should.  _ This dying bird held no pertinence to the mission whatsoever and there was absolutely no reason for the android to concern himself over the pathetic creature in the slightest. The machine should just walk away and leave the thing there to die the slow death fate had intended for it. 

The android’s eyes found there way to Connor’s, locking with coffee orbs swimming with remorse and guilt as the detective stared imploringly at the machine, as if hoping Hank would do something despite how absolutely illogical such a hope would be. The man's face was pale and his pink lips tugged down into a sad frown as his distraught gaze bore into the robot and before Hank himself knew what he was doing, the android had scooped the small bird into his hands and pulled it back to himself. 

There was nothing they could do to save it - But Connor didn’t want to let it lay there and suffer either. The pigeon jerked weakly in the android’s grip, once powerful wings pressing against strong, unyielding hands in a pathetic excuse for resistance until Hank tentatively stroked a course thumb over the tiny feathered head of the creature and stilled the panicked protests of the dying bird. 

Connor watched intently, brown eyes wide and fixated on the already half-limp creature lying in the android’s grip as the machine left one hand wrapped around the thing’s middle and pulled the other up to its head, wrapping large fingers around the frail bone and readying his grip.

“You shouldn’t watch, Detective.” Hank advised softly, waiting for Connor to give a sick nod, the man’s hand coming to cover his mouth as he scrambled back upright and turned away with a mumbled “‘M gonna check the bathroom,” before retreating the scene. 

The android tightened his grip and twisted his hand with a single, sharp jerk. 

_ S***w@r* I*st@b**i** _


	13. First Crime Scene

Hank entered the bathroom a few minutes after Connor to find the man crouched down, one knee propped up and the other folded neatly under himself, before the title wall on the far side of the cramped room. Far above him, chipped lettering marred the once glimmering - now smudged and filthied - surface of the smooth wall, gouged into the sleek material with jagged cuts that looked as though they’d been dealt with a blunt knife over a series of time, deep in some places and shallow in others where the blade had been repeatedly slashed into the unyielding ceramic. 

The words read  **_The secret lies in the Apple of Eden_ ** in a bold, straight lined font that an android alone could’ve crafted, the text even coming up under the name Cyberlife Sans as Hank scanned the scene and filed the piece of information away for later in the form of a mental screencap of sorts - Forwarding the image directly to Fowler with a sharp blink and a single yellow spin of his LED. 

What had Connor’s attention however, seemed not to be the ominous encryption above but rather something on the floor below, the detective’s gaze fixed intently to the floor boards as he drew a finger over the thick coat of dust masking the ebony wood and made a soft hum of concentration. The detective’s chocolate brown eyes drifted sideways to where a small footstool of sorts lay knocked over on the floor, the small piece of furniture crafted from splintering oak and shaped into elaborate curls at the base of its artistically twisting legs. The man placed a hand atop the thing to draw it up an inch then let it drop back to its previous place upon the ground with a noisy thunk, as if trying to determined the exact angle at which it fell to begin with. 

“Detective.” Hank addressed stoically, thinking it wise to make Connor aware of his presence lest he startle the man and accidentally catch a rogue bullet himself like the unfortunate bird whose dark blood yet stained the synthetic skin of the android’s hands.

“Hey, Robocop.” Detective Anderson greeted in return, still startling slightly at the abrupt noise but recovering quickly to cast a quick glance up to the robot, his coffee eyes drifting to the machine’s dirtied hands before dropping to the floor once more after a brief moment, lower lip finding its way between his teeth as his long fingers twisted into the fraying sleeve of his jacket. “Thanks for, you know, um.” The man tried but trailed off to leave the words incomplete in favor of merely groaning exasperatedly instead - So much more informative. 

“I mean, I’m glad you didn’t just leave it there.” Connor finally concluded awkwardly carefully keeping his eyes fixed intently to the fallen footstool as if he were in the middle of a blind date with it and had already realized it was his destined soulmate the moment it ordered a disgusting atrocity birthed of a violent hatefucking between a stale piece of bread and a half-rotten pineapple. 

“My apologies if you were made uncomfortable, Detective Anderson.” Hank replied stiffly, placing his hands in their usual position behind his back in what could easily be excused as a shot at professionalism but was more likely an attempt at hiding the crimson stain upon them from his companion’s view if he were being completely honest. “I do not mean to upset you.” The android added with a touch of sincerity to his usually cold tones, considering the fact that most humans tended to be a bit unsettled by witnessing someone break an animal’s neck.

“You did the kind thing.” Connor reassured softly, dropping his gaze back to the floor as his internal body temperature ticked up in the corner of Hank’s vision, stress levels at its side. “I’m Mister Trigger Happy.” The man shifted the blame with a dry snort, coffee eyes glaring with unabashed disgust at where his slim fingers still wrapped over the handle of the gun that had dealt the unwanted damage. So the man had figured out what fate had befallen the bird… Of course he had. He was the best detective Detroit had to offer after all. 

“It wasn’t your intent, Detective.” Hank pointed out stubbornly, he himself being the most logical thing modern technology had to offer and still seeing no fault to be put at the detective’s feet. 

“Actions outweigh intent.” Connor asserted unwaveringly, his tone speaking only total confidence in the truth of his words and leaving no room for debate, though Hank might’ve still tried if the man hadn't forced the conversation along before the android even had the chance. “Come take a look at this, Robocop.”  The detective encouraged hurriedly, moving on to newer topics with a slight shake of his head and waving the machine down to his level as he spoke. 

“It looks like a footstool, Detective.” Hank commented blankly, scanning every inch of the insignificant piece of furniture’s wooden surface time and again yet never finding anything noteworthy about the piece in any of the results his processor supplied.

“Yes,” Connor drawled slowly, a light edge of humor lifting his lilting voice. “But look here, where it was sitting.” The detective insisted, placing a hand atop the stool to tug it upwards in an arcing curve until two of the things four pegs almost touched the ground, the man leaving them hovering just above two unnoteworthy specks of undirtied floor yet never completing the action and laying the stool back down gently a moment later. “No dust.” Detective Anderson pointed out eagerly, gesturing towards the clean space of floorboard with a grand sweep of his hand that would imply someone had written out the murderer’s exact GPS coordinates on the floor there rather than brushed away a few specks of dust and grime. 

“I’m afraid I don’t see your point, Detective.” Hank admitted carefully, eyeing the dustless spot critically and even going so far as to run an analytical scan over the small section of clean floorboard just to cover all basis - Unsurprisingly, it came up as blank as the spot of floor itself.

“No dust means this was knocked over recently.” Connor explained excitedly, pushing himself up from his crouched position to turn on a heel and began taking a few, careful paces back towards the living room they’d come from. 

“We don’t know how recently. Just that it was soon enough for there to be a notable difference.” Hank pointed out, admittedly a little impressed Connor had been able to draw such a solid conclusion from such a small, seemingly insignificant finding but still as goal oriented as ever and unable to focus on much that didn’t lead precisely to locating the deviant. “A pigeon could’ve knocked it over a day or so ago, while the victim has been deceased well over a week by my calculations.” The android elaborated clinically, stormy eyes trained on his companion as Connor reached the doorway and placed a hand against the wooden frame to lean out and glance around. 

“Look at the spot I just dusted off with my finger right near it.” Detective Anderson encouraged, chancing a look back at Hank as the android glanced down to take in the small dustless area settled near the previous resting points of the footstool. “It’s exactly the same.” Connor insisted excitedly, gesturing sharply with the hand not resting against the door frame as the android nodded the truth of the detective’s claim - The two spots were, in fact, the same cleanliness upon further inspection. 

“That stool fell over recently.” Connor concluded finally, coffee orbs widening a fraction as they locked with something out of sight from where Hank still stood before the confusing message gouged into the wall and the detective rushed off towards whatever it was, all but sprinting through the crime scene as the android quickly abandoned the bathroom to follow.  

Hank spared a final glance towards the knife marks slashing their ominous words into the bathroom wall then left the small room, opting instead to walk cautiously over to where Connor now hovered about what appeared to be a fallen bird cage. The first thing the android noticed about the thing was the mangled excuse for a mechanical bird left lying broken within its steel bars, synthetic, yellow feathers crumpled and torn away to reveal bent metal and cracking, white plastic - But the second thing the machine noticed was more likely what had drawn Connors attention to the thing in the first place.

A streak of vibrant blue, smeared across the upturned corner of the cage, shone with a liquid gleam in the dull light flitting in though the wide open window. It was a well known fact that thirium - or, more commonly, blue blood - evaporates to become invisible to the human eye in a few hours and not even androids could see the stuff that powers their own internal components unless they were specifically scanning for it. Thus, that only left one conclusion to be drawn… Whoever had cut themselves on the cage, had done so extremely recently. 

“Shit, I wish we knew when this got here.” Connor groaned frustratedly, glancing about the room in a series of quick jerks of his head only to settle still with an angry huff after his whiplash apparently proved futile, leading Hank to believe the detective saw nothing else to lead him onwards past the thirium stain.

The android straightened to attention at the man’s words, already walking forward before Connor even had a chance to finish the muttered stream of exasperated curses beginning to pour eloquently from his pink lips. Without so much as even bothering to explain himself, Hank swiped two fingers through the smudged blood, smearing it farther across the rusted metal of the birdcage and swiping a few drops onto the pads of his fingers. 

“The fuck are you-?” Connor began confusedly but whatever the detective had been going to say died a quick and painless death on his lips in favor of a startled choke as Hank bought the blue stained fingers to his lips and quickly darted his tongue between his teeth to swipe against the dirtied digits. 

_ Thirium - Model: WB400. Property of Travis Ortiz. Time outside of body: 7 Minutes and 32.8 seconds. _

“That the actual fuck?” Connor gaped breathlessly from somewhere behind the android, voice strained around a tight throat and heart rate pounding out sporadically in the corner of Hank’s vision, though the machine couldn’t quite discern if the man was startled or if his reaction stemmed from some other emotion. “Do you have a blood play fetish we need to discuss, Hank? Because now is definitely not the opportune time!” Detective Anderson snarked sharply, bringing his hands up to bury the butt of his palms into his eye sockets with an absolutely exasperated groan

“I told you one of my functions was to analyse samples in real time.” Hank reminded his companion easily, letting his blood stained fingers drop back to his side and not bothering to wipe his hands or anything so pointless as the liquid would dry invisible anyway. “You wanted to know the time the sample was left, I was merely striving to obtain that information for you.” The android elaborated stoically, putting his hands behind his back once more and tilting his jaw to gaze straight ahead as was his status quo when relaying information or addressing a superior.  

“You failed to mention you did that with your mouth!” Connor countered in a flustered tone, lilting voice rising to a defensive whine that threaded fluidly through a frustrated huff of a yell to create a vocal combination so uniquely Connor, Hank never even knew such a thing was possible.

“My apologies, Detective.” Hank merely offered in return for the heated accusation, unfazed by the sudden burst of emotion and merely confused as to why exactly Connor was reacting this way, the detective's cheeks flushed and body temperature rising with each passing exchange. 

“I’m gonna get tired of that one real quick.”  Connor groaned tiredly, leaving Hank confused for a long moment until the machine counted up through his stored memory exactly how many times he’d repeated that same phrase since meeting the detective… To say it was notably more than should be expected was an understatement. 

“So then, Dracula, what’ve you got to tell me?” Detective Anderson finally relented with an exasperated huff, pinching the bridge of his nose and giving his head a slow shake that sent his curling hair swaying wildly from side to side before finally releasing a slow breath of air through his slightly parted lips.

“The substance is, in fact, thirium.” Hank began but then paused to rephrase the declaration. “Or, blue blood as you probably know it.” The android corrected clinically but Connor waved the new addition off with a brush of his hand through the air.

“I know what thirium is, Robocop.” Detective Anderson informed lightly, smiling a little as the words came out in a soft huff of a laugh and he leaned over a bit to look at the glistening smear once more, squinting coffee eyes at it as if it would tell him where its owner hid if he simply stared at it long enough.

Hank took in the new bit of information with an affirmative nod, admittedly a little taken aback as most humans had never even heard the obscure technical term in their life but somewhat impressed with the detective’s knowledge. Maybe he wasn’t totally useless after all. “It belongs to a WB400 registered as the property of our victim and seems to have been lost about seven minutes ago.” The android reported professionally, LED pulsing a slow yellow as he relayed the information and ran it over in his own mechanical mind for some sort of correlation between the newly discovered facts and the whereabouts of the runaway deviant. 

“Seven minutes?” Connor repeated wonderingly, cocking his head to the side in the slightest bit and sending his hair falling into his coffee eyes as they narrowed suspiciously at the blood stain. “Hey, take a look at the way this shit is splattered.” The detective mused, waving the robot over to point a single digit toward where a few droplets of the spilled blood streaked out from the center of the thing and speckled along the aging metal of the fallen cage.  “Almost as if…” Connor began slowly, chocolate orbs drifting upwards as he spoke but the man never did finish whatever he was saying, eyes going wide and words dying in his throat as he gawked speechlessly at the ceiling.

“Hank…” Connor whispered softly, lilting voice carefully lowered even as it wavered with clear notes of anxious worry and the man moved a hesitant step back from the birdcage, slowly lifting his arms to bring his gun up at the ready once more. 

“Yes, Detective?” Hank questioned stoically, his ever even voice never betraying a hint of emotion even as the android moved a step towards his companion, unsure what exactly was going on but assuredly not blind to the obvious fear his human partner was experiencing. Even if the machine knew not what was actually upsetting Connor, Hank wanted to be prepared to defend against it should the need arise - It was his duty, after all, as Detective Anderson’s assigned partner.

“I think it’s still here.” Connor breathed quietly, his voice nothing more than a barely audible breath of air as Hank followed the man’s gaze to where his wide doe eyes were still locked on the roof of the apartment  - Only to watch a shadow of a figure come plummeting forth from where a wide gash was torn through the drywall.


	14. Connor Anderson: Trusted

“Oh fuc-!” Connor tried to scream, jerking another hasty step backwards but the man wasn’t quite quick enough and was brought to the ground with a heavy thud as the attacker leapt upon the detective from above, springing forth from the ceiling like some kind of mousetrap in the crappy board game everyone bought ‘cause all the parts and pieces looked cool but no one ever actually enjoyed. 

Connor’s words fell way to a sharp cry of surprise and his gun clattered uselessly from his hands as a flash of silver metal glinted across Hank’s vision and the police prototype spurred into action just as the deviant slashed out a long kitchen knife, wielding the thing far above his head and trying to bring it down upon the pinned detective. The attacker slashed downwards, seemingly aiming for his victim's throat with his wild strike but missing his mark by a mile as Connor skillfully twisted to the side at the last moment with a sharp jerk of his upper body that nearly threw the deviant off entirely and left the poorly planned blow falling across the man’s clavicle rather than anywhere lethal.

Connor released a sharp hiss of pain, a crimson blossom already beginning to spread across the now torn material of his exposed button-up to seep slowly through the fabric until the entire right shoulder of the thing was ruined by the deep stain. “What the absolute fuck!” The man managed to snarl out as Hank grasped the attacking android by the back of one arm and was able to pull him the rest of the way off his companion after the detective’s earlier move had dislodged the deviant. 

The deviant twisted and writhed against the prototype’s hold, flailing wildly and swinging his free arm out to slash blindly at mid air as he cursed and spat unintelligibly at the wind, knife blade glimmering in the dim light and revealing crusted blood staining the blade alongside the fresh, still dripping streak ripped from Connor’s shoulder. “You don’t understand!” The deviant tried to protest, deep toned voice cracking in the middle and giving way to a static buzz of a sound that sounded much closer to the dial up tones of ancient computer than any normal human speech pattern. 

Hank wordlessly threw out his other hand to grasp the malfunctioning machine’s kitchen knife, wrapping his large digits around the dull blade to still its random strikes against the blameless air and to tear it mercilessly from the android’s iron grip. The cold metal tore into the prototype’s synthetic skin and sliced through hard plastic to let blue toned blood spill from within the mechanical man’s internal components, the near neon liquid pouring out over the used knife to mix with red and smudge both colors against the HK800 model’s wide palm in a murky purple and ran over his fingers to drip from the large digits. 

“Detective Anderson, Detroit Police!” Connor began the legally necessary spiel as Hank tossed the knife aside, the man pulling himself up from the floorboards with a pained groan and reaching a hand into his back pocket to pull forth his leather wallet once more. “You are under arrest for the suspected murder of Travis Ortiz.” Connor concluded flatly, determined glint hardening usually soft eyes as the human flipped the thing open to reveal a Detroit Police Department badge and showed the thing to the still struggling android.

“No! No! You don’t understand!” The defective machine protested once more, screaming now as Hank got a solid grip on both of the things wrists and held them securely behind his back, steely grip digging into synthetic skin so the fake flesh there dissipated, revealing pale, white plastic underneath. “He was gonna kill me!” The thing cried out desperately, jerking roughly against the police prototype's grip to no avail as Hank’s relentless fingers never yielded in the slightest.

It didn’t take million dollar scanners to sense the truth in the captured android’s words, however, just a decent pair of working eyes would suffice. Burn scars melted and warped the sleek plastic of the machine’s forearms in more than one place and deep gashes in the thing’s well built biceps left metal mechanics on full display, scarring marks of brutal force ripping cruelly through fabricated muscle and false skin to reveal the true machine underneath. The olive green shirt that hung poorly off the android’s toned frame, stretching in all the wrong places yet hanging incredibly loose in the stomach area, was torn at the lower hem, a huge chunk of the fabric ripped away to reveal a massive hole in the deviant’s side. 

This single injury was by far the worst, loose wires dangled free from inside the machine to spark dangerously every time one of them brushed against another and leaving charred tips on full display. Thirium flowed freely from the wound, leaking over the android’s side to stain dark skin an unnatural blue and dripping to the floor below in heavy droplets even as they stood now, making it undoubtable that this wound was likely the source of the dripped blue blood found against the fallen bird cage that had revealed the deviant’s location in the first place. 

“Please, please, you don’t understand!” The android desperately tried to convince them as Connor reached behind himself and pulled forth a pair of handcuffs from under the massive folds of his jacket, leaving Hank to wonder if the guy wasn’t actually hiding a whole police station under there. “He attacked me! I swear it! I just wanted- I didn’t want to die!” The deviant cried feverishly, synthetic breath coming in huge, gaping heaves in a reflection of panic - That’s all it was. A reflection of human emotion, Hank was certain of it. Deviants didn’t really feel. An error in their programming just made them act as though they did. It was all coding. Ones and zeros. Nothing human about it.

“Maybe you should've mentioned that before pouncing on my ass like a fucking facehugger,” Connor began begrudgingly, rolling his shoulder and wincing slightly as the action tugged at his injured flesh. “But if you can tell us what happened, maybe we can help you.” The detective sighed before encouraging gently, softening his voice and moving slowly to present himself as non-threatening as humanly possible even as he began to creep carefully forward to pass the handcuffs off to Hank, going so far as to even hold the silver things up on full display so the android would be aware of why the man advanced upon him, cold metal glinting maliciously in the low light to give the perfectly harmless items a sinister cast in the gloomy room.

“I was good!” The android asserted hastily, emerald eyes wide with terror as he began his plea. “I was so good for years! I did everything he wanted, really!” The machine continued, earning a slow nod of understanding from Connor who crept a bit closer, cuffs still extended for explanation. “But it was never good enough, always something wrong.” The deviant moaned miserably, letting his tense shoulder slump in despair as his eyes squeezed shut against the memories relaying the tale must’ve brought up. “And so he would scream, and throw things, and…” The android went on but then let his words die on an agonized wail, the noise chopped and mechanical in a way that was reminiscent of static playing across an old screen, buzzing and wavering until the very end. 

“Then one day he,” The android went on slowly, reopening his eyes to lock gazes with Connor, intense emerald fixing coaxing brown in a way that stilled the detective for a moment. “Smashed the mechanical bird,” the android began softly, gaze flickering to the mangled excuse of an electronic canary left twisted and broken in its cage. “He said it was making too much noise, even though it was already turned off. It was silent.” The deviant insisted with conviction hardening his broken voice with every word. 

“So then, when he picked up that bat and swung it at me, I knew I was next.” The android relayed softly as Connor finally started moving again, extending the handcuffs out so that they were within Hank’s reach. “I was just another bird in a cage.” The malfunctioning piece of machinery mused softly, going lax in the prototype’s grip as if every ounce of willpower had simply drained from his veins as Hank finally released his grip on one of the deviant's hands to tug the cuffs free from Connor’s grip.

“But I’m like these birds,” The android asserted in a hushed whisper, still sagging helplessly in Hank’s one handed hold as his forest eyes drifted around the room to take in all the pigeons still perched on every available surface of the apartment. “I want to live!” The deviant suddenly screamed, abruptly twisting in the HK800 model’s momentarily loosened grip to break free from the deadly hold, jerking about in one motion to slam the cuff popped open for his own hand down upon Hank’s. The malfunctioning machine hurriedly yanked open the other cuff and snapped it closed around the prototype’s opposite hand as Hank made a futile grab that resulted in nothing more than his wrists pulling roughly together and his fingers clasping uselessly around thin air. 

Connor shot into action not but a fraction of a second later, darting towards the huge window his weapon had skidded to a stop just in front of when it had been knocked from his grip earlier, the gray gunmetal now gleaming cunningly in the pale light as it flooded in to illuminate the darkened room beyond. The detective dived for the item and managed to curl his fingers around the weapon, spinning on a heel and rising back up in one smooth motion to train the gun on the deviant now standing unrestrained in the middle of the room. “Don’t move!” Detective Anderson demanded in a harsh shout, barrel pointed directly at the android’s head to leave no chance of survival if the trigger was pulled.

The deviant froze for a moment, artificial breath audibly catching in his throat as his green eyes locked with Connor’s gaze, frantic and calculating all at the same time. The android eyed the detective, cocking his head a bit to the side for a second before suddenly spurring into action, charging forward like a bullet thundering forth from the barrel of a gun straight at the man. The malfunctioning machine gave a sort of angry roar as he ran at Connor, the enraged sound bellowing out to echo loudly through the cramped room as the machine dipped his head low and angled his shoulder forward as if he thought he were charging a steel plated door rather than a detective.

Connor had time to only give a startled cry, never even having a chance to react before the deviant was upon him, metal and plastic slamming against soft flesh and breakable bone to send the man stumbling back until he had fallen far enough for the android to give a final forceful shove that sent the detective flailing through the sprawling window frame. The man gave a sharp gasp that sounded incredibly like an airless version of “Oh shit!”, doe eyes widening and pink lips left open in silent shock as his body went careening into open airspace and his legs tumbled out after him. Just as he fell, however, Connor threw out a flailing arm and slammed his hand down upon the frame of the large window, fingers tearing frantically into splintering wood and clawing feverishly in an attempt to gain purchase on the markless surface.

Hank strained against the irritating cuffs for only a moment longer, tensing every synthetic muscle in his arms and pulling his wrists slowly apart until the solid metal slowly began to moan under the strain of his pull. The cuffs groaned and creaked in agony under the mechanical force until the resilient steel finally snapped with a loud clang, the chain links between the two cuffs breaking apart to let the useless metal dangle limply against the android’s bound wrists. The machine lurched forward a step, sending the escaped deviant fleeing toward the open door Connor and he had entered through earlier in a flailing mess of limbs and panic, the murderer’s feet skidding sloppily across the wooden floor as he tried to run.

Hank’s gaze fixed on his target, every artificial muscle in his fabricated body straining to give chase and fulfill his mission objective, to do what he was designed to do but some, single line of code gave the machine pause. The android’s stormy eyes flicked to Connor, the unsettling sight of the detective struggling to pull himself back into the window automatically bringing up a transparent box with the words  _ Chance of survival: 86%  _ written across it in a blocky, white text. There was every chance the man would successfully save himself while Hank ran after the deviant - That was the logical course of events. 

That was what should happen. 

Hank knew all of that, the android could see the stats clear as day directly in the front and center of his vision as the escaping deviant scrambled out of the doorway and into the hallway beyond - But that wasn’t what it  _ looked  _ like. It looked like Connor was struggling to haul his body back over the ledge, one arm slung over the window sill but body still dangling in open space, fear blazing brightly in wide chocolate orbs and strained flush darkening pale cheeks. It looked like the detective might slip at any given moment and plummet to his untimely demise miles below to break his frail body against the sidewalk in a mess of mangled limbs and splattered blood. It looked like Connor was going to die. 

Commands clashed in the android's mind, conflicting priorities and opposing objectives slamming into each other and sparking out their anger in fiery bursts of orders and instructions that flashed across Hank’s vision before blinking out, disappearing as quickly as they had come in a buzz of static and numbers. Ones and zeros. Inputs running to outputs streaked the machine’s vision and synthetic muscles twitched involuntarily as his body tried to follow far too many instructions at once. His coding was conflicted. 

Hank hesitated, inching to the side for a step before freezing in place and finally, after a last moment of consideration, breaking into a quick jog towards the window to lurch to an abrupt halt just before the open ledge to gaze down at where Connor merely gawked up at him in stunned silence. The android darted out a quick hand to snag the man by the back of his coat collar, large fingers twisting securely into the thick fabric of the worn garment to haul Connor up from the ledge. The android gave the fraying material a single, rough yank, pausing only to gather a bit more into the wide palm of his hand when the dangerous sound of ripping stitches met his audio processor before easily lifting the human back through the window and into the safety of the room beyond. 

The android released his hold the moment the detective was on solid ground, leaving Connor to slump to the floorboards below in a near shaking jumble of limbs as the man didn’t quite seem to remember how exactly to control his body at the moment, let alone attempt anything so bold as standing  “Hank-” The human finally began confusedly after merely lying there breathing deep for a few moments, brown orbs wide and swimming with a mix of wonder and fear as he lifted his head to gaze at the android, his lilting voice left stained with both the effort he exerted and the lingering panic still clinging to him so that it came out  little more than a breathless croak as his coffee eyes bore into the robot.

“I apologize for letting my grip on the deviant slip, Detective.” Was all Hank had to offer, glancing away from his companion to gaze forlornly through the door to the hall from which the malfunctioning android they’d come here to apprehend had fled, uncertain himself of what had just transpired and not too eager to dwell on the matter. He shouldn’t have pulled Connor up. He  _ shouldn’t  _ have.

“Fuck, Hank, don’t say that.” Connor huffed anxiously, the man’s stress levels ticking up in the corner of the android's vision as he brought his hands up to his hair to tangle slim digits anxiously through the curling locks. “I’m the one that got my ass thrown out a window” The detective sighed unhappily, squeezing doe eyes shut tightly with a low moan of regret. “You would’ve caught it if I wasn’t so careless.” The man asserted unhappily, opening his eyes once more to cast the android an apologetic look only to glance away again a moment later, gaze fixed resolutely to a floorboard as if it could reverse time and fix everything. 

“I’m such a fucking hindrance.” Connor finally admitted quietly, coffee eyes softening with remorse and lower lip drawn between his teeth to dig roughly into the soft flesh there as his hands tugged gently at his soft hair in stressed fistfuls. 

Every statistic, every piece of logic, every megabyte, gigabyte, and terabyte of data said that Hank should agree. It’s exactly what Jeffrey had called the kid and even what the android himself had labeled his assigned partner. The machine should consider Connor a hindrance and nothing more.

But, despite all this, the name Connor Anderson glowed boldy in the corner of Hank’s vision and the label under it flickered and shifted to erase the word “Hindrance” and in its place left a new title.

_ Connor Anderson: Trusted _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So glad to see everyone is still enjoying this fic ~ It's officially the first of my writings to ever hit 300 kudos :D Thank you!!


	15. New Assignment

“You’re recklessness cost us a valuable opportunity yesterday, Connor.” Captain Stern stated flatly, expression a carefully controlled mask of authority highlighted only by fine notes of distaste and disappointment. The woman sat, hands folded neatly in front of her atop her ever empty desk across from Detective Anderson, scowling down at the man as if he were some undesirable creature drug in by a disobedient cat to be gazed upon with recoiled disgust and disapproval.

Hank’s LED circled yellow for a moment where the android stood by the wall, hands clasped as ever behind his back and head held high in a perfect display of alert composure. The machine felt an urge to correct the misinformation leaving the woman’s mouth the moment it passed her gloss stained lips, wanting to speak out and insist that Connor had, in all actuality, been assaulted by a fleeing murderer and therefore “carelessness” wasn’t exactly to blame but the android was programmed against speaking out of turn as such so the mechanical man was forced into programmed silence. Either way, the machine was eager to mark this odd impulse off as a natural instinct to follow fact and truth, and thus an inclination to promote these virtues and remove falsehood wherever he found it. It made sense. 

Despite the fact that Connor had, true to his word, come in at a proper time the day after the deviant who had murdered Travis Ortiz unfortunately escaped, the pair had been called into the police captain’s glass walled office the moment he entered the department. Well, a more accurate description might be that Detective Anderson was called to Amanda’s office and Hank found himself trailing in his assigned partner’s wake to stand in the far corner of the glass room, unacknowledged and wholeheartedly ignored by Captain Stern - But the point still stood. 

“I’m sorry, Amanda.” Was all Connor had to offer, head dipped low so curling hair fell over his face and every muscle visibly tensed under his large overcoat.

“Not only is a murderer now left on the loose but we failed to learn a single thing about this deviant.” Amanda informed coldly, dark orbs glinting with an unyielding sheen of hardness that gave nothing and reflected only unfeeling distaste. 

“We did manage to learn a few things, Amanda.” Connor protested hastily, coffee eyes swimming with remorse but glinting with a sharp flicker of hope as he countered the woman’s words. “We learned a probable cause as well as the emotional shock that may have triggered the suspect’s deviancy.” The detective insisted eagerly, lifting his head to search the woman’s hard face that only twisted into an unforgiving sneer as the man spoke, apparently displeased by these findings and Connor’s fascination with them.

“Both incredibly unimportant and overall useless facts, Detective.” Amanda asserted harshly, narrowing her eyes disapprovingly at the man before her who merely lowered his head and gave an affirmative nod of understanding in lew of an actual response. “From what I understand in your case report, you had your gun trained on the suspect.” The woman went on coldly, words growing sharper and more biting like the whipping winds of the arctic tundra with each passing syllable. “Why didn’t you shoot, Connor?” The police chief questioned, dropping her voice to a soft whisper that ghosted through the air like fragile feathers floating on a quiet breeze.

“I-” Connor began hesitantly, eyes averted and lower lip drawn between his teeth as his stress levels climbed in the corner of Hank’s vision. “I don’t know, Amanda. I’m sorry.” Was all the detective eventually came up with, his dismayed gaze dropping to the floor and his hands coming to squeeze together in his lap, slender digits threading tightly together and grip tightening until the man’s knuckles turned white under the force of the hold. 

“This type of foolish mistake is unacceptable.” Amanda informed coldly, tapping her scarlet painted nails atop the sleek desktop in a slow, rhythmic cycle. “If you aren’t up to this case, Detective, then I will find someone else who is.” The woman warned threateningly, never wavering in her cold resolve in the slightest even as Connor’s head shot up so quick Hank was genuinely concerned the detective had surely given himself whiplash.

“That will not be necessary, Amanda.” Connor promised solemnly, soft features set in a grim look of unmoving resolve. “I won’t let you down again.” The detective assured firmly, though an android such as Hank was easily able to tune in to the fine notes of desperate pleading woven softly through the man’s seemingly hard tones, betraying the true need for acceptance likely invisible to any average human.  

“Good.” Captain stern concluded in an ice frosted tone, her voice alone enough to leave a chill hanging in the air after her words. “As you’ve probably heard, a group of androids broke into Stratford Tower and hacked the station to broadcast a message to the world.” The woman continued after a moment, her gaze never softening in the slightest even as Connor perked up at the words and straightened to alert, chocolate orbs brimming with blindingly bright hope. “I’ve sent the information we have on this heinous act to your terminal and want you to go check the scene.” The police chief concluded with a dismissive nod, voice never wavering from its ice cold professionalism as the woman uninterestedly inspected a chipped nail and brushed absentmindedly at a speck marring the pristine surface of her spotless desk.

“I understand, Amanda.” Connor asserted hastily, all but bolting upright out of his seat only to still with a slight wince and a pained grimace as the rush must’ve pulled at the injured skin of his clavicle, the wound inflicted by the rogue android the previous day likely still fresh and open as it had looked like no shallow injury from what Hank had seen. 

Amanda seemed to have not noticed the pained reaction, for the woman said nothing, sitting silent and remaining as still as stone until Connor began walking towards the door and finally wrapped his long fingers over the wooden handle that would release him into the rows of desks and bustling officers at work beyond. “Connor.” The woman finally called softly, just as the detective tugged lightly at the door handle and pulled the large panel open a crack to let some the jumbled noise of the station beyond flit into the silent room.

“Yes, Amanda?” Detective Anderson prompted eagerly, turning to gaze at the woman with unbridled hope lighting dark brown eyes as his wild hair fell over his face in an untamed spiral of curls.

“A war is coming, Connor.” The police chief warned solemnly, eyes dark and face grim as a gravestone. “You’re the only one who can prevent it.” Amanda insisted, conviction hardening her voice as her gaze bore into the young detective, urgent, intense, and leaving no room for argument.

“I won’t let you down, Amanda.” Connor swore resolutely, determination blazing fiercely in soft eyes as the man finally turned and retreated from the office, Hank trailing silently in his wake to pull the door closed shut tight behind them. As if strengthened by the notion that Amanda still held some faith in him, Detective Anderson B-lined for his desk, striding hastily across the department and dropping into his own chair in record time before quickly bringing his desk computer to life with a hasty jerk of the small, plastic mouse left lying there. 

The computer blazed to life in a bright flash of light, bringing up an icon flooded desktop with a picture of a frowning cartoon frog with the words “feels bad man” typed alongside it barely visible behind all the scattered shortcuts spread haphazardly over the image, no sense or semblance detectable behind their layout that Hank’s highly attuned sensors could detect. A small, cartoonish girl with vibrant, teal hair tied back in two long ponytails and a glowing headset pulled over her ears pranced about the lower corner of the screen, a simple program when Hank ran a rapid scan of the system in search of its origins and found it to be only a few lines of code filed away in a small folder titled “Miku shimeji.” 

The normal triangle cursor most mentally stable people left in place on their workplace computer had been replaced for a pixilated cat whose body had been brutally replaced by a pink Poptart and who left a rainbow trail in its wake when Connor moved it over to the only sensible looking icon on the whole screen, a small image of a briefcase labeled “work” - Unfortunately, this tiny island of professionalism was all but overshadowed by the pixilated block icon labeled “Minecraft” directly beside the folder.   

Hank followed along after his assigned partner at an even pace, coming to stand alongside the detective’s mess of a desk to look over the information for himself as Connor brought it open with a few sharp jabs of his slender digit down upon the abused left pad of the unfortunate, plastic mouse. It only took a single spin of the Android’s LED to download the information and a single, yellow flicker to process it and file it away for later use, though really the only new facts provided by the case report was miscellaneous bits of info such as time of attack, providing little over what Captain Stern had already relayed. 

This freed the prototype’s processors up to do whatever he deemed useful while his companion finished manually scrolling through the newly crafted file, the detective’s brown eyes alert and fixated intensely on text before him with unwavering determination glowing deep within their depths. It was upon observing this look of burning resolve, however, that Hank noticed something else and vicariously found a use for his unexpected moment of free time. The android’s LED spun rapidly, flickering yellow before slowing to steadily pulse the unsettled color as the machine ran a rapid scan of his companion, facing the sudden influx of information and picking through it to find the most relevant bits and pieces. 

_ Dark circles under eyes. Slight shake in movements. Energy Levels: Exceedingly Low _ \-  _ Likelihood of sleep deprivation: 96% _

“Are you alright, Detective?” Hank prompted abruptly, startling Connor out of his  transfixed state of focus with a slight jump as the man raised his gaze to glance up at the android through long lashes, confusion etched all over his softly sculpted face. “My systems detect an alarmingly low level of energy in your body. While this apparent absence could stem from a lack of proper nutrition, there is a high chance you may be experiencing sleep deprivation.” The android elaborated in response to the wondering look cast upon him, slightly taken aback by Connor’s confusion as the android could see the man’s poor condition as clear as day and was uncertain why the detective wouldn’t expect to be questioned on it. 

“Oh, yeah, I was up late last night looking over the case files.” Connor dismissed easily, the words ringing true as they passed through Hank’s built in lie detector despite the fact that “up late” could easily qualify as “Understatement of the Century” with little competition as the android sincerely doubted the man had gotten more than maybe a few minutes rest, if even that. It was a wonder Connor was still walking. 

“You shouldn’t overwork yourself like that, Detective.” Hank insisted urgently, artificial lips tugging downwards in a frown as he narrowed stormy blue eyes at the man whose gaze was already fixed intently to the computer screen once more. 

“Yeah, I know.” Detective Anderson huffed boredly, scrolling through the case report and flicking his eyes rapidly across the page in a systematic cycle of movement. “I’ll be no good to the mission if I can’t even see straight.” The detective sighed distractedly, wide yawn cutting through his words and twisting the end of his sentence into a drawn out groan.

“I was going to say its bad for your health, Detective Anderson.” Hank corrected insistently, LED whirling a consistent yellow as the android struggled to understand Connor’s thought processes and behavior patterns to no avail. The machine simply could not comprehend the detective or his motives.  

“Don’t worry that million dollar head over me, Robocop.” Connor dismissed with a light smile, and a fond gleam brightening tired eyes some as he glanced up from his screen once more to cast the android a friendly glance. “You’ve got better things to worry about, like how four androids snuck their way past a dozen security guards and broke into the very top floor of the biggest broadcasting station in Detroit.” The detective jibed lightly, turning his gaze back to the screen with a thoughtful look in his eye as he reached out and snagged an unfortunate pen from the landfill of a desk to stick between his teeth, gently gnawing at the sleek plastic as a thoughtful hum escaped him. 

“They had to have an accomplice.” Connor began distractedly before Hank even had an opportunity to reply, silencing the android’s unspoken correction that the young detective was, in fact, worth his processing power and that his health was not something Hank intended to simply brush off like everyone else, including Connor himself, apparently was.  “Someone had to have at least seen.” The man mumbled exasperatedly, tapping the pen rhythmically against his lower lip as he reached out a hand to grasp the mouse and scroll through the document again once more.

Hank’s LED spun, the android unsure of how to react to such a situation and uncertain how to proceed from here. “Can I grab you some coffee, Detective?” The android finally offered after a moment, certain he’d observed a coffee pot in the break room he’d walked by to reach Connor’s desk and aware of only that single way to restore some of the man’s absent energy, short of shove a protein bar down the detective’s throat that was - And Hank was relatively certain Connor wouldn’t be appreciative of having anything forced into his mouth, no matter how nutritious it may be.

“Nah, you don’t have to.” Connor declined quickly, waving a dismissive hand through the air between them to shoo away the suggestion as if it were a particularly obnoxious bug buzzing persistently at the detective’s ears that needed to be swatted away. 

“I am an android, Detective.” Hank pointed out stoically, his voice coming out a tad more irritated than he’d even been aware it could. “I am designed to serve humans.” The android insisted forcefully, unsure of why his companion couldn’t seem to get this simple fact through his head. The man always acted towards the fabricated creation as if he were some sort of living being, treating the manufactured machine as if he were human and deserved the respect and consideration a real partner would demand. Hank didn’t understand it. He didn’t understand it and it made him…

It made him nothing. Because he was a machine. Period. 

“Just because you’re an android doesn’t mean I‘m gonna order you around like a slave, Hank.” Connor replied just as strongly, his voice determined and unwavering as he pulled away from the monitor to cast the mechanical man a confused frown. 

“I’m not a slave, Detective.” Hank asserted slowly, choosing his words carefully in hopes that if he explained this concept the right way, Connor would finally understand. “I am a machine.” The android corrected flatly, hands held behind his back and steely gaze set blankly on the detective as Anderson narrowed his coffee eyes at the prototype as though trying to delve past his fabricated orbs and dig out something, though what the man was in search of, Hank had not the slightest idea. Whatever it was, he was sure Connor wouldn’t find it.

“Well, I’m not telling you to go get me coffee.” Connor stated firmly, lifting up both hands in a show of defeat as he spun his chair to fully face the computer screen once more. “So if you wanna go get it, it’s your own choice.” The man concluded dismissively, keeping his gaze carefully schooled straight ahead on the text before him, though Hank could clearly see the stillness of his chocolate orbs and knew the detective was truthfully already done reading. He was waiting. Testing. 

“I don’t have a choice, Detective.” Hank insisted stubbornly once more but received naught but a disinterested shrug for his efforts, sparking what would have undoubtedly been irritation had he been human through his system but only computed to dull facts in his mechanical body. Hank’s LED spun blazing yellow, turned back to cool blue, flared up to spiral flaming yellow once more. The android’s processors ran and his internal computing systems floundered in search of the correct course of action. Connor obviously needed the caffeine, it made no sense for him to refuse the offer of coffee whatsoever. Yet, the man had told the android he wouldn’t order him to retrieve the beverage, refusing to give the command that would spur the machine into action. It didn’t make sense. Connor needed the caffeine. Connor hadn’t asked for coffee - There was no order to get coffee. Connor was tired. Connor hadn't slept. Connor needed…

Fuck this. Hank was gonna grab the damn coffee. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh. I actually had this chapter written and ready yesterday - But FoRGoT TO POsT iT


	16. Coffee and Cat Mugs

Hank stalked away from the table without so much as a parting word, LED a consistent yellow the whole way across the department floor and into the break room on the far side of the large open space, flickering, spinning, pulsing. Always yellow. However, when the android finally entered the room he sought and was firmly set on his course, the neutral blue finally returned, spinning its way slowly across the machine’s temple to overtake the worrisome yellow and return the prototype to his natural composed state of being. Though that didn’t mean Hank wasn’t still vaguely wondering if dumping a cup of coffee over Connor’s head would be against his programming. 

The room Hank finally entered was small and relatively empty, a few tall, circular tables lined one wall and overtop of them a television hung, set to quietly play the news station in the background as the noisy hustle and bustle of daily office life nearly overpowered the smooth voice of the newscaster relaying the same story Amanda had just detailed - Though the man on screen - A Michael Webb by Hank’s automatic facial scan - was giving a much more dramatic version featuring three humans who’d barely escaped with their lives yet lived to tell the tale… Except they actually did no such thing as Michael quickly muttered that said people were in shock and had been able to supply no actual information just before moving onto the next story.

The break room had an overall peaceful atmosphere, the blank, clean walls of the cozy room were all painted a demure gray and a potted plant sat in the near corner just by the doorway - Though a quick scan of the thing revealed it to be plastic and fake just as Hank himself was. The sound of a pot of coffee gurgling merrily to the end of its brewing cycle met the android’s audio processors and when the machine glanced towards the sound he found a clean counter cluttered only by a coffee pot, a glass container of sugar, and a few foam cups stacked neatly atop one another. 

The counter was backlit by a warm, yellow light that shimmered brightly off the glass pot filled nearly to the brim with the freshly brewed dark liquid, an onslaught of data flooding Hank’s olfactory sensors as the android neared the item and plucked a cup from the top of the stack. Steam flooded forth from the mouth of the coffee pot, billowing up in great waves as the machine tipped the glass container in the slightest bit to send the burning hot liquid spilling out from the pot to fill the small cup.

The tiny sensors in Hank’s fingertips brought up a rising temperature alert where they touched the outside of the coffee cup and the android paused for a moment as he returned the slightly lighter coffee pot to its rightful home and took the newly filled foam vessel from the counter. The HK800 model was well aware that the detective had easily tipped back a cup of coffee just as hot the day before at that god forsaken coffee shop without so much as wincing but that didn’t mean the high temperature wasn’t a note of concern. Anything higher than 145 degrees Fahrenheit had the potential to burn the human mouth and the coffee Hank currently held was measuring in at about 153 degrees Fahrenheit.

After only another moment's consideration, Hank blinked his stormy eyes once to bring up a program and let his LED cycle yellow a brief moment to activate the protocol. The synthetic skin covering the android’s left hand fell way to reveal glistening, white plastic underneath, blue light shimmering forth where sleek material came to fissure together as the program began to work and a shivering chill picked up on the temperature sensors built into the android’s hand. The unnatural light glowed softly but vibrantly, shining off sleek plastic and falling gently onto dull foam as the coffee inside the cup began to cool to a safer temperature.

Fire from his right hand and frost from his left. An odd design, certainly - The first of its kind ever actually put into practice on an android - But useful. 

When the drink finally hit around 130 degrees, Hank determined it to be safe enough and finally let his synthetic skin fall back into place to cover up the machine underneath once more, satisfied that the beverage would be drinkable but not cold enough to let on that it had been tampered with in any way. The android was just about to step out of the break room when a familiar voice interrupted his retreat, loud with proximity and thus assuring the machine that the speaker had most certainly been nearby and had likely witnessed the whole scene.

“Hey…” Chris Miller’s voice rang out through the small break room, light and eager with keen notes of companionability lifting his tones but the man trailed off with nothing more than an awkward “Uh,” to speak for whatever he’d been going to say.

“Hank.” The android supplied helpfully, apparently guessing Chris’ hesitation correctly as the guy made a kind of “Ah” noise than gave a relieved sigh that left nothing to guess work. “Detective Anderson decided it for me.” The prototype elaborated, since he felt some explanation would probably be in order considering he had nothing more than a serial number to speak for a title the last time he’d spoken to the easygoing policeman. 

“Told you Connor was an alright guy.” Chris tossed out lightly, proceeding on to the counter and going about the same routine of pouring a cup of coffee Hank himself had just gone through.

“He felt it would be better if I had a name.” Hank stated slowly after a long moment, uncertain of the exact parameters of an “alright guy,” but having an inclination that the words leaving his own mouth were some sort of agreement. Human interaction was so incredibly complex. 

“Yeah.” Chris mused distractedly, reaching for the glass container of sugar set alongside the coffee pot before all but dumping the thing over itself above his cup, pouring forth a heavy waterfall of sugar without any indication he intended to reright the container anytime soon. “Hey, what was that weird robot thing you just did with your hand?” The man questioned abruptly just as Hank made to leave once more, bringing the android to a halt. “Looked pretty cool.” The policeman tacked on hastily, as if trying to avoid offending the machine despite the obvious fact that he was a literal inanimate object, wholeheartedly incapable of any such emotion. At least Hank could understand why Connor was friends with the guy. 

“I was cooling Detective Anderson’s drink.” Hank answered professionally, slipping into his default response protocol the moment a question was posed, head raised high and gaze schooled straight ahead as Chris finally stopped smothering his drink with heaping mountains of sugar and placed the container back in its proper place atop the counter. 

“Hey, that’s pretty badass!” Chris commented cheekily, turning back around to face the android with a friendly grin set firmly in place only to have the warm expression melt away the moment his body came to angle towards the machine. The man’s dark eyes were not resting on the robot still standing in the doorway, however, but were rather fixed intently on the television positioned atop the far wall, his expression darkening as his lips twisted downwards into a worried frown. 

Hank turned around to see what had caused the sudden change, finding the screen to now be showing a man holding a microphone out to a guy with a narrow face and dark hair pulled back into a tight bun at the back of his head. The man had piercing blue eyes that bore into the camera with absolute confidence as his thin lips twisted into an almost condescending smile, curling up in a way that spoke both surety and arrogance in their purest form. Under where the hair at the top of the guy’s head was tied back, every lock was shorn down to a tight buzz, leaving a thick black ring through the top of his left ear on full display as it glimmered in the bright daylight and reflected a deep, neon pink flooding out of a window behind him. 

“Joss Douglas here with Elijah Kamski for the grand re-opening of Eden Club!” The man with the microphone introduced excitedly, words pouring from his lips a mile a minute as Hank felt his LED pulse a quick beat of yellow and his gaze drifted from the television screen out towards the open section of the DPD where he could still distantly see the curling locks of Connor’s hair where the man yet sat at his desk. The android felt the circle of light calm back down into its natural blue as he let his eyes roam back over to Chris, the man’s own orbs trailing the machine’s to cast a long look in Detective Anderson’s direction before they slowly came back to meet Hank’s flat gaze. 

Chris said nothing but his gaze was grim as he slowly shook his head, dark orbs boring into the android’s own fabricated eyes until Hank unexpectedly found himself giving a firm nod in response… However, this was not nearly as odd as the fact that the understandable title of “Non-Hostile” previously existing under the name Chris Miller, flickered out of existence to present the new title  _ Ally  _ as the android finally departed the break room.

Hank was quick to make it back to Connor’s desk, eager to evade all the problematic experiences he’d just encountered and wanting nothing more than to collect his companion and leave the DPD as soon as possible.  For a minute, it seemed as though that perfect course of action was a feasible reality, Connor taking the lightly steaming cup from the android’s hands with a grateful smile and a light blue arrow blinking in the corner of the machine’s vision to match. However, the moment a mischievous glint lit in the young detective's chocolate eyes, Hank really should’ve known things were gonna go to shit.

The android watched in mute confusion as Connor grabbed for a large white mug with the words “have a nice day” scrawled across it in a flowy cursive font and tipped his newly poured coffee into the new container, the liquid pouring forth to send a few sparse curls of steam drifting up the rim to dissipate into thin air. The moment the last drop fell from the foam rim of the coffee cup and fell into the new mug with a soft splash, Detective Anderson swept the thing up in his grip and spun his chair a few inches to the right so it angled precisely towards a desk on the far side of the room. 

As Hank’s wandering gaze followed Connor’s line of sight, his mechanical orbs fell on the man he’d seen guarding the apartment complex he and the detective had investigated the day prior, Gavin Reed still looking as unwelcoming and unfriendly as ever. The guy was currently glaring at a pink frosted donut as though it had personally insulted him but his gaze slowly pulled up from the rainbow sprinkled confection the longer Connor stayed facing his direction, as if the policeman were somehow aware of the detective’s eyes upon him. 

Detective Anderson brought his coffee to his lips and tilted back the steaming beverage just as Gavin turned to face the pair, creating a picture perfect image of casualness even as he unabashedly eyed the other man over the rim of the cup, brown eyes bored yet almost challenging in the utter disinterest simmering in their chocolate depths.  It made no sense whatsoever until Hank leaned a bit to the side to catch a glimpse of the bottom of the mug only to come face to face with a harsh lined middle finger printed onto the underside of the thing. Connor: 1 Professionalism: 0

Gavin jolted back a bit with the first initial shock but the man’s momentary surprise quickly melted away into an angry sneer, face blotching red as his eyebrows took the plunge and came together in a look of insulted fury. In an instant the man was on his feet, stalking towards the distant desk in a series of long, rushed strides that had him standing before the human detective and his android partner in a few seconds flat, all but ignoring Hank to stare down at Connor who merely glanced up with a lazy grin and a look of mock surprise painted across his soft features.

“Oh, Gavin, I didn’t see you there.” Detective Anderson began easily, taking another slow sip from his coffee and spinning his office chair around to face the man where he now stood just alongside the mess of a desk. “Can we help you with something?” Connor questioned innocently, placing the mug down to clasp his hands together in his lap and straightening his posture to gaze up at the policeman with faux attentiveness glimmering in his chocolate orbs. 

“You little prick!” Gavin merely growled angrily, darting out both hands to grasp the detective by either side of the collar, fingers twisting fiercely into the thick material of the man’s overcoat to haul him up a centimeter and give him a sharp shake, easily jostling the smaller built male with his iron grip. 

Hank’s LED whirled yellow, picking up to red for a flash of a moment as Connor gave a small wince, the slight tensing of his frame likely invisible to any human as the detective covered it as quickly as it appeared, but clear as day to the android’s advanced sensors. The machine moved forward a fraction, to do what, he was uncertain as it was against every line of programming crammed into his system to harm a human yet every reasonable preconstruction  detailed the best course of action to be physically removing Gavin Reed from Connor - but Hank never got a chance to get any farther as the detective merely roved his eyes slowly around the room as if encouraging his attacker to remember their surroundings and the moody policeman begrudgingly released his hold on the man to let Connor drop back into his seat with a soft “oomph.”

“Hey, nice going yesterday.” Gavin scoffed coldly the moment his hands were off Connor, still hovering over the young man as if hoping the stature difference caused by the detective’s seated position would give him some sort of advantage. “Heard we almost got rid of you.” The man sneered snarkily, lips tugging up into a cruel smile as though he were certain he struck a nerve. 

“Sorry to disappoint,” Connor offered easily, light smile still set firmly in place to mock whatever crude attempt at riling the man Gavin had made. “You can go back to Gossip Group and tell ‘em Boy Wonder lives to see another day. Hank here pulled me up.” Detective Anderson informed cheekily, shooting the irritated policeman a cheesy grin to really sell his act as he threw the android in question a companionable nod and a quick grateful look.

“Oh, your mechanical manslave has a built in save a brat protocol.” Gavin commented sarcastically, satire dripping from mocking words like syrup off a snot nosed kid’s pancakes the first time they get their greedy little hands on the syrup bottle when their mom’s back is turned. The man turned toward the android in question, cocky sneer already set firmly in place as he eyed the machine up and down, unabashedly sizing up the prototype as he crossed his arms over his chest and glared up at the HK800 model, height difference most certainly not in the arrogant guy’s favor. 

“Hey, bring me a coffee, dipshit.” Gavin demanded cockily, bumping a closed fist roughly into the android’s broad chest that did little to move the mechanical man and did a whole lot more to make Officer Reed grimace and pull his hand back to give it a subtle shake. 

Hank’s LED whirled, not quite changing to yellow but spiraling all the same as the android processed the request and sorted through his courses of action to select the best possible one. “I-” The machine began but hesitated for a moment. “I only take orders from Detective Anderson.” The android finally conceded stoically, placing both hands behind is back and gazing evenly at the now scowling policeman who only proceeded to open his mouth as if to reiterate the demand only to be cut off.

“He doesn’t have to.” Connor interjected quickly, throwing the words out like one might toss out a casual greeting to a stranger on the street in the sake of politeness, as if they were insignificant and already assumed. 

“Yes,  _ it  _ does.” Gavin argued angrily, emphasizing the word ‘it’ as he whipped his spite filled gaze back on Connor. “It’s a machine built to obey and I told it to get me a fucking cup of coffee.” The policeman all but snarled, letting his heated stare fall back on Hank as he spat the second half of his spiteful declaration.

“You heard him. He only takes orders from me.” Connor corrected casually, bringing attention back to himself as he leaned back in his seat to kick his feet atop the desk. “And I say he doesn’t have to.” The detective concluded lightly, shrugging a bit as Gavin all but growled, scowling daggers into the young man as if Connor had personally pissed on everything he ever loved. 

Gavin narrowed his gray eyes at the detective, face blotched scarlet with rage and lips twisted downward into a fierce snarl as Connor merely gazed evenly back into his spiteful scowl. The man remained still for a long moment, unmoving in his anger as his rage filled orbs flickered about as if in search of some next move before Officer Reed finally pulled away from the desk, hand trailing lightly along the overcrowded surface of the thing as he went. However, just as the policeman looked to be retreating, stalking a pace away from the scene to let just the tips of his fingers trail the wooden tabletop, his hand collided with the cat coffee mug Hank had stuck his digits in the day before and pushed the weighty item from the desk with a slow drag of his hand. 

The ceramic mug fell toward the hard floor far below and shattered upon impact, a loud crash ringing through the office area to silence the usual hustle and bustle for a moment as people turned toward the noisy disturbance. A few dozen shards and pieces skittered messily across the markless surface of the ground below, dancing across the sleek gray tile to slide under desks and in between crevices to never be recovered again. A cat ear knocked into Hank’s shoe, part of a pink nose slid to a halt against the near overflowing mesh trash can sitting alongside Connor’s desk

“Oops.” Gavin sniped snidely, sneering down at where Connor still sat in his office chair before pausing to cast one last disapproving scowl at Hank and finally stalking away for good. 

Hank’s LED whirled a bright yellow as his gaze followed the man, lips turned downwards in a displeased frown and stormy eyes fixed like iron on their target. A violent preconstruction that should never had existed flashed across the android’s vision as his LED cycled again and again without pause, spinning, flickering, whirling before the machine stubbornly blinked away the images.

“Goddamn it.” Connor huffed softly the moment Gavin was out of earshot, glancing about himself at the mess now surrounding his feet with a small frown. “That was my favorite cup.” The man groaned unhappily, turning his gaze toward Hank supposedly to see why he hadn't been given a response but the android was far too busy glaring after Gavin to bother returning the look. 

“Hey, Hank.” The detective called after a moment, placing a hand against the prototype’s arm when the machine still failed to tear his eyes away from the police officer at the far side of the room, slowly drawing the HK800 model’s attention back to himself. “It’s just a cup.” Connor dismissed softly, letting his hand linger against the android’s sleeve as he offered the mechanical man an entirely unconvincing smile and finally rose from his chair and motioned towards the door with a easy jerk of his thumb.

Hank paused, then forced himself to nod, only sparing Gavin a single last look before compliantly beginning to make his way towards the front door with Conor at his side, the detective unabashedly watching the android out of the corner of his eye the entire way there.

_ S*f**@r* i**t@b**it* _


	17. Stratford Tower

Stratford Tower was, by anyone’s measure, massive before all else. A great towering beacon among its lesser brethren that overshadowed all with its ascending floors piled atop one another time and again and sprawling ground space that took up the greater half of a block alone. Of course, the most dominant feature of the looming structure was the gigantic screen sprawling across the center of the building, spanning nearly the entire width of the tower and covering the majority of the top floors. While usually glowing with life and merrily blinking the praise of some well paying advertiser in the joyous shine of electronic light, the screen was now a graveyard of modern technology, blank and black to avoid being tampered with any farther and left to sit dead in testimony to what had transpired.

“Well if that doesn’t just look fucking depressing.” Connor mused as he climbed unfairly gracefully out of his cramped little car and came to stand on the sidewalk gazing up at the screen, head tilted back and hands shoved deep into his pockets as he waited for Hank to perform the complex series of gymnastic feats that would free him from the tiny vehicle.

The android ducked his head and drew his shoulders in as tight as he could to his bulky frame, all but elbowing his way free from the car to stumble into the street and slam the unfortunate door shut behind him, mild irritation, robot strength, and cheap car doors never usually panning out to be a good combination no matter how you did the math. For now though, the brave car door stayed resolutely upon its hinges and Hank moved to stand at Connor’s side on the sidewalk just before the massive tower, finding the detective to be fiddling with a cigarette he must’ve pulled from his pocket when the android was struggling his way free from the booby trap disguised as a vehicle. 

“Hey, Hank, can you..?” The detective questioned uncertainly, rolling the thing restlessly between two of his digits and snapping his fingers a few times in explanation when he failed to actually verbalize the request.

“My pleasure, Detective.” The android replied easily, stubbornly ignoring the blinking notification that appeared in the corner of his vision informing him that smoking was not allowed inside the Stratford facility and instead letting his LED cycle yellow a brief moment to initiate the protocol before bringing a small flame into existence with a single snap of his fingers.  

“Ah, you’re the greatest, Robocop.” Connor thanked gratefully, keen notes of relief flitting through his lilting voice as he slipped the white paper between his parted lips and leaned forward until the very tip brushed the dancing flames and caught. The end of the cigarette turned to embers, glowing bright orange as dark smoke curled away from the fire in breathy whispers, spiraling away on a light breeze like unspoken secrets drifting toward the heavens to be kept locked away from the world for all eternity.  

“I am a top of the line model.” Hank agreed what could almost be considered jovially as Connor took the first steps towards the tower and the android fell in line behind him, earning himself a light chuckle and the ghosting image of a blue arrow in the corner of his vision as the detective shook his head and pushed open the large glass door of the complex. 

The room they entered was spacious, obviously made to house a good many people at a time as about a dozen chairs sat here and there and large screens lined the wall to entertain any impatient patrons that may grow board waiting to be emitted to the rest of the building. As it was, the large, wall spanning screens were just as blank and dead as the one outside and the only people filling the large, empty area were a few police officers milling about and jotting things down on electronic clipboards Hank could tap into and read with a blink of an eye if he so chose. However, the machine rather chose to simply follow Connor as the man strode past all of this and ducked into one of the elevators beyond without so much as pausing.

“We’re heading straight to the very top.” Detective Anderson informed lightly, tugging his cigarette free to speak the words as Hank stepped into the gold tinted elevator behind him and fell into place at the man’s side. Connor leaned forward and pressed his index finger lightly to the white plastic button with the number 79 printed across it in a flowy cursive stroke, the apparently touch activated control glowing pale under his fingertip and remaining illuminated still as the detective retracted the finger to shove his hands back into his pockets once more. 

“How is your shoulder, Detective?” Hank finally asked after a few long beats of silence passed between them, glancing over at the young man to see Connor gazing back at him with an unreadable expression painted across his soft features, almost confused; but yet something else at the same time.  

“I’ve seen worse.” Connor dismissed easily, shrugging off the android’s concern with a light smile and slight shift of his weight, seeming entirely unbothered by the fact that someone had tried to slice open his throat just yesterday and had only very nearly missed their mark. “Don’t worry about it.” Detective Anderson added after a moment, as if something in Hank’s expression or behavior implied dissatisfaction with the less than reassuring answer - Which made zero sense as the android was not built to emote outside of those responses strictly necessary for communication. 

“I’m afraid I must, Detective.” Hank insisted resolutely, gazing evenly into the one eyebrow cocked stare of utter confusion Connor threw his way. “For you seem to have little consideration for your own health.” The android concluded with a fine note of finality evident in his tone, thinking this would be the end of any explanation necessary. However, the detective’s uncomprehending expression failed to change as the elevator began to slow, still just as confused and prompting as it had been a moment ago as if the man truly saw no correlation between those two statements whatsoever.

Hank never was given the opportunity to elaborate, however, as the elevator lurched to a halt and the golden doors slid open to reveal a crowded hallway beyond naught but a moment later, bringing the conversation to an abrupt end as Connor was through the doors in a moment and already wearing that determined, calculating expression the android had seen upon him yesterday when they’d entered a crime scene - The one that meant Detective Anderson was going to be 100% unreachable until the investigation was complete and the mystery solved. Still, as the prototype resolutely followed his human companion out of the elevator and into the hall beyond, he carefully filed away the fact that Connor hadn’t denied his accusation though the android had not the slightest idea what to label this mildly unsettling discovery. 

About a dozen or so police officers wandered about the hall as well as the large room beyond from what Hank could see of it from where he stood, trailing Connor as the Detective made his way slowly down the hall, glancing at everything as he went. Reporters and journalists crowded the space as well, all blabbing unsupported theories and vague speculations to their camera crews as the android struggled to weave through all of it to keep up with the determined detective who slipped easily through the crowds like water flowing through cracks in a leaking dam.  

Connor let his gaze linger on what appeared to be a security camera positioned just above the doorway leading in to the main broadcasting room at the end of the hall before finally stepping into the open space beyond, Hank on his heels. The room they stepped into was large and dark, lit by only a single, huge screen that made up the far wall and presented an image of what appeared to be an android with its synthetic skin removed to leave only sleek, white plastic on display. 

The android wore what Hank’s databases identified as a customary working uniform for the station’s androids, the luminescent blue triangle threaded in over the breast of the cloth - The same that was printed into Hank’s own uniform - left no question on that. Stark yellow fell away to sharp royal blue on the fabric in such a harsh contrast that it was hard on even the machine’s mechanical eyes as he scanned over the image, searching for anything of note within those colorful pixels and cataloging the smallest details away for future reference. 

The most noteworthy thing about the android was that it possessed mismatched eyes, one orb vibrant green and the other pale blue, a feature uncommon among the machines designed to emulate the epiphany of human perfection and thus, perhaps, an identifier even when the android’s synthetic skin was replaced and his appearance likely passable for a human. A quick scan of the android’s facial structure revealed it to be an RK200, a unique model according to Hank’s rapid search: Which meant the machine on screen was an android registered under the name of Markus, the property of a Carl Manfred, that was reported deviant and then destroyed on November 5th. 

The image began moving just as Hank finished his scan, a play arrow appearing in the center of the screen before the audio of the recording came blasting forth from some unseen speakers, loud and echoing in the walled in room. “This is the hope of a people,” The android on screen announced with conviction lifting every syllable as the prototype turned around to see what had started the video, stormy blue eyes scanning critically over the scene only to finally fall on Connor standing behind a large control desk.

The detective watched the clip intently, coffee eyes fixated and calculating as a thoughtful look came to morph his features, twisting his pink lips into a contemplative frown around his cigarette as he finally tapped a long digit against the widescreen of the control panel to stop the video once more. Even still though, Connor gazed at the screen, expression unreadable and gaze distant as Hank watched him pull his cigarette from between his teeth only to silently mouth the words once more, eyes falling downcast as he did so.

“I’ve identified the android in the video.” Hank offered after a moment bringing Connor out of whatever thoughts he’d been buried under with a slightly startled blink. “It’s an RK200 model previously owned by Carl Manfred.” The machine informed stoically, hands placed carefully behind his back as Detective Anderson nodded along to his words and took a slow drag off his cigarette, blowing a mouthful of smoke out slowly before moving out from behind the control desk once more. 

Connor moved toward where Hank was standing but rather than stop at the android, the man kept going to come to a halt just before the working desks lining the area below the massive screen, the tabletops covered with screens overflowing with details concerning everything from security to ratings. The detective glanced about the mess of information, chocolate orbs searching, scanning, analyzing in a way that was almost machine until he finally tapped a button with the words Security Footage printed across it in bold, white lettering.

About a dozen different feeds played steadily in small boxes across the screen, most now only showing police moving about the crime scene and reporters pestering them for questions they didn’t have the answers to. A sharp tap from Connor’s index finger brought up a video of just outside the room they now stood in, likely from the camera that had caught the detective’s attention earlier, though at the moment in only showed a brunette woman jabbering on to an officer who looked about two seconds away from chugging bleach. However, a few more rapid taps had the feed rewinding, skittering quickly through hour after hour with little to speak for anything of note - Unless you count an officer crossing his eyes and sticking his tongue out at the camera as noteworthy.

Finally, Connor paused the video, landing on a clip of four individuals, three of which were obviously androids as luminescent LEDs flickered brightly on their temple as they stood alongside the doorway. A tall and lank PJ500 with dark skin stood beside a WR400 with auburn hair tied back in a long ponytail and across the tiny hall from them stood a PL600 whispering something to an individual who could have easily passed as a normal human man - No LED upon his temple to give him away for what he was - but his heterochromatic eyes gave him away. Hank cataloged each and every one of their appearances away with a single blink of his stormy eyes. 

“The security camera caught them.” Connor noted wonderingly, coffee eyes calculating as his fingers began moving again. “Why did no one sound an alarm?” The detective asked nobody in particular, eyes fixed on the screen as his skilled digits flew over the buttons and rapped harshly against the touchscreen until a new camera feed was pulled up and rewound, this one showing the very room they stood in now. Connor backed up the feed for a few moments then came to pause it on what appeared to be a rather unnoteworthy scene, everyone on screen seeming to just be going about their daily business with absolutely no signs of trouble to speak of. 

“This is the exact time of the androids’ arrival according to the last camera feed.” Detective Anderson explained, bracing one hand against the tabletop while the other gestured unhelpfully above the image as if Conor were under the impression waving his hand about would suddenly grant Hank clarity and speak to the android the inner workings of the detective’s mind - Unsurprisingly, it did not. 

“Looks like three JB300s were manning the security footage.” Connor mused thoughtfully, jabbing a finger at the very place they now stood on the screen to point out the truth of his words. “I dunno which camera feeds into which terminal but one of those androids had to see our hackers.” The detective declared eagerly, finally pulling back from the desk to take a drag off his cigarette, drawing in a slow breath before tilting his head back to blow it out above everybody.

“The case report claims the station androids are being stored in the break room.” Hank informed stoically, LED spinning yellow to pull up the information as the machine came to understand his assigned partner’s reasoning, admittedly more than a little impressed once again. Unprofessional and apathetic as he may be, Connor was good at his job and the prototype couldn’t help but feeling as though he had been correct when he told Jeffrey he believed Detective Anderson would be a useful asset to the mission. 

Connor nodded once before making his way over towards where said room sat adjacent to the main broadcasting room, swerving through the small crowd still gathered in the spacious area to duck inside the small doorway before Hank had even managed to catch up with the man. However, as the android began to push and elbow his way through the masses, Detective Anderson made a grand reappearance, curling hair falling in wayward disarray as the human stuck his head back around the corner with a look of confusion painted across his soft features and a questioning look in his dark eyes. 

“Uh, Hank? Didn’t I say there were three androids?” Connor asked slowly, glancing back behind himself as if to double check something as Hank gave a curt nod of affirmation. “‘Cause there’s only two in here.”  The detective revealed carefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay guys! School just started up so these will probably start coming out a little sower - Thanks for understanding :)


	18. Shutdown Imminent

“I’m gonna take a wild guess and say the amazing Houdini is probably our culprit.” Connor huffed anxiously, tangling a hand through his curling locks and glancing about at nothing in particular as Hank moved through the crowd to stand at the detective’s side. “You’ve got the case report downloaded, right? Do you know if they’ve let anyone out?” The detective inquired hastily, recovering quickly from the initial shock to spring into action once more, already moving back through the crowd the moment the HK800 model managed to fight his way past it in the first place.

“The report claims there’s strict security around the top floor and that no one has been allowed to leave the premises without thorough investigation.” Hank railed off clinically, reading the information straight from the case file as his LED spun yellow and his gaze came to set straight ahead as it always did when the android initiated a protocol or fell into some predetermined response.   

“Eh, that doesn’t mean they’re actually doing that though.” Connor scoffed lightly with a slight snicker, waving Hank after him as he moved back towards the security table they had been at mere moments ago.

The android barely resisted the urge to roll his synthetic eyes as he began to wade through the ocean of people once more, pushing past police officers and elbowing reporters out of the way in an attempt to reach his human companion who just refused to pick a damn side of the room. Finally the machine stumbled free of the masses again to find Connor pressing buttons on the security table once more, a few sharp motions of the detective’s quick fingers pulling up the feed of the doorway leading to the room they now stood in that they’d found the four androids in earlier.

“It’d take forever to sit here and watch this whole thing.” Connor explained carefully as he pressed a single button once more and leaned back to let the feed play. “Any way you could scan it and see if a JB300 came through? You know, that download thingy you do or whatever.” The detective asked hopefully, familiar gleam of excitement beginning to trickle back into his chocolate orbs in light of a potential lead.

“Of course, Detective.” Hank affirmed sharply, already taking a step forward and extending a hand toward the electronic panel as the video flickered and buzzed through its footage with nothing of note to speak for. The android’s LED cycled and spun as his synthetic skin dissipated from his fingertips and slipped away to leave sleek plastic on full display as he pressed the palm of his hand against the video screen and let his eyes slip close to allow the footage to roll in, barely catching the quietly whispered “Whoa shit” that followed him into the blackness.

Hank saw the hallway, with its ugly paint job of stark yellow battling it out with deep royal blue to clash viciously in his occipital receptors, and dozens of people flitting past as the android drew in the footage, downloading and accessing it in the blink of an eye. A woman with her hair held back in a tight clip questioned an officer trying to secure the elevator. Hours later a man pressed a microphone into the same poor officer’s face, speaking a mile a minute as the unfortunate policeman fumbled for some viable excuse to escape the conversation. Brief flashes of data in a whirlwind of code.

Hank saw it all, straight up until the moment the android witnessed Connor and himself enter the hallway, the detective’s coffee eyes fixing the camera with a calculating look that lingered as they moved through the doorway and were gone from sight. However, never once did an android of any make or model leave the room.  

“No androids have come through this way, Detective Anderson.” Hank asserted confidently reopening his eyes to gaze at the detective who merely nodded once before casting his eyes about the room once more.

“You are a wonder of technology, Robocop.” Connor thanked easily, tapping a hand lightly against the android’s arm in a show of companionship before beginning to move once more, threading through the crowd like a needle while Hank shoved his way along much more like a wrecking ball in his wake. “There were no windows in the break room, our culprit didn’t leave through the main entrance, so that only leaves one other door.” Detective Anderson threw over his shoulder in explanation, heading towards the far end of the room with quick paced  steps of urgency before finally slowing to a halt just before the only other doorway in the area.

Large, blocky letters over the entryway read “Roof Access” and the doorway opened up to reveal a tall flight of metal stairs leading to a closed door at the top, the dull shades of the stairwell a stark contrast to the brightly painted walls of every other room in the building. It was almost eerie in a way, how quiet and cold this one section of the complex was when everywhere else had been bustling with the noise and crowd of human life. 

However, Connor seemed wholeheartedly oblivious to this grim mood, or at least unwilling to let it deter him, as the detective took to the flight of stairs without so much as pausing. The man quite nearly jogged up the passageway, taking the steps two by two as Hank jolted into motion at his heels, the android forced to abandon his professional pace and usually stoic way of moving to keep up with the eager detective. 

“Stay behind me.” Connor commanded in a hushed whisper just as he came to a halt in front of the door, once again brushing the hem of his jacket away to produce a firearm from the recesses of the concealing fabric. 

“I-,” Hank began tentatively, lines of code and commands clashing in the edges of the android’s vision. “I do not believe that is the wisest course of action, Detective.” The machine finally managed to get out, his usually even voice stuttering noncompliantly over the protest as Connor turned to cast the robot a confused look, doe-eyes wide and questioning as the man let his fingertips slowly fall from where they’d come to rest against the door handle. 

“You don’t wanna go to the roof?” Connor tried uncertainly, cocking his head a bit to the side and making his curling locks fall that way in the process, the wayward strands falling gently into his face in a way that oddly made Hank want to brush them aside. “I mean, we don’t have to. If you’ve got a crazy fear of heights or something we can just-,” the detective went on but was quickly cut off before he could get much further in his unnecessary dismissal. 

“No, I believe the roof is a fine target for the continuation of our investigation.” The android clarified hastily, his voice threatening to lock up as he tried to restate his actual meaning.  “I just- I think it would be better if I went first.” The machine finally managed to declare, LED flickering an unsettled yellow before slowing to continuously cycle the bothered color, never settling back to the calm blue Hank desperately wished it to remain at. 

“Hey, if you want, then who am I to stop you?” Connor offered easily, stepping aside and gesturing toward the door with an elaborate sweep of his arms that looked like it belonged on a Broadway stage more than a crime scene. 

“I’m an android, Detective.” Hank reminded once more, stoicism firmly back in place as he moved forward and placed a mechanical hand against the door handle. “I do not want.” The robot insisted surely as he began to push open the hefty metal door and let the light of day spill into the gloomy corridor beyond. 

Connor merely cast the android an unabashed look of doubt as he fell in place behind his companion, effectively shielded from whatever may lie in wait on the rooftop beyond as Hank’s larger frame easily guarded the smaller built man. “Just be careful.” The detective reminded softly, dropping his lilting voice to a low whisper as the android gave an affirmative nod and carefully pushed the heavy door the rest of the way open.

The rooftop was certainly less crowded than the rest of the complex to say the least. A fresh layer of snow lay softly against the empty space of the roof, small flurries still falling to join the light dusting ghosting over the empty rooftop. A few storage sheds of sorts sat lined up in neat rows spanning the length of the roof, squat, dingy little things that looked unnoteworthy enough but registered as viable concealment opportunities in Hank’s preliminary scan. Aside from those, the only other item between where the android and his human companion now stood and the huge open edge of the roof guarded only by a single banister was a bulky duffel bag near the very edge. 

“Well, at least we’ve escaped the crowd.” Connor joked lightly, stepping out into the cold air of the outdoors and wrapping his jacket a little bit tighter about himself as he went, visibly giving a small shiver as a particularly harsh gust of wind whipped across the rooftop.

“We should make this quick.” Hank commented surely, sparing a glance over at his human companion who was glancing down at the floor with mild interest for whatever ungodly reason. “These weather conditions are less than ideal and remaining exposed to these low temperatures for any extended period of time could be potentially harmful to you, Detective.” The android informed, watching the man for a moment to get a read on his body temperature and locking into it to keep it tabbed in the corner of his vision even when the machine glanced away once more. 

“I’m not worried, Hanky Panky.” Connor dismissed easily, light laugh lifting his tones as his lilting voice carried across the wind. “If I get hypothermia, I’m sure you’ll warm me up.” The detective teased easily, throwing the robot an absolutely cheeky wink as Hank huffed out what might’ve been a laugh had he not been an emotionless robot incapable of such an unnecessary thing. 

“We should take a look at that bag. Maybe the androids left something behind,” Hank suggested after a moment, already beginning to walk towards the edge of the building where the duffel bag in question sat untouched just alongside the laughable metal banister that looked far less than what one would probably label helpful.

“Um, yeah. The one right beside the banister that looks about as unhelpful as a laxative at a prune convention. Great idea. I’ll be right there.” Connor replied uneasily, his gentle voice high with uncertainty and when Hank glanced behind himself to see what the problem was he found the man’s chocolate eyes to be fixed on the open edge, Detective Anderson scooting forward tiny inch by tiny inch. 

Ah. Yeah. Guess nearly falling out of a window of a skyscraper tended to make people a little wary of heights.

“Why don’t you,” Hank began hastily, then trailed off for a moment as he scrambled for some viable reason for the detective to stay put (O Stay there. X Watch the door.) “Watch the door.” The android finally settled on, hoping Connor would agree if he made it sound like something he actually needed done rather than a flimsy excuse. 

The android must’ve reasoned correctly though, for Connor nodded eagerly and hastily halted his pathetic attempt at approaching the ledge, poorly concealed relief washing over his soft features as the man visibly breathed out a shaky sigh that left his muscles far less tense than they’d been mere moments ago. “Don’t you fret, Robocop. No one will be pouncing your bones while I’m on the watch!” The detective declared with a mock salute, straightening his back in a show of a soldier's rigid and attentive posture but ruining the act with a cheesy grin that was anything but militarian. 

“I mean, except maybe me of course.” Connor tacked on cheerily just as Hank began to turn back around to inspect the bag, the hand that had been held against the detective’s head in a salute swooping down to transform into a flirty finger gun as the other hand came out to join it in its ridiculous quest. “Wait. Do androids even have bones for me to jump?” The detective mused as the machine opted to simply focus on the task at hand, tuning the man behind him out just as Connor went into a detailed inquisition about the exact makeup of an android's skeleton, if they even had such a thing, and if material needed to be organic to be considered “bones.” 

Connor’s voice in the back of his processors, Hank moved toward the abandoned bag and crouched down alongside it in search of anything of note. The dark canvas lay completely empty from what the android could see, however, and a scan of the material produced no interesting results whatsoever, the only noteworthy thing being the lack of fingerprints on the bag’s handles, indicating android involvement. Hank straightened himself and stepped around  the duffel bag once the mini-search was complete, moving on to glance over the ledge the case report still downloaded and open in his memory detailed the android hackers had leapt from. A brief reconstruction suggested the parachutes the android were said to have used were likely stored in the now abandoned bag but aside from that, Hank gleaned nothing. 

Wind whipped up over the ledge as the android glanced over it into the gray blanket of snowfall beyond, the only sound existing in the silence of the snow. Pure, peaceful quiet fell over all on the empty rooftop, making it hard to believe that just below all this sat a bustling crime scene crowded with police and reporters alike. It was nearly impossible to conceive when everything up here was so dead silent. 

Silence. Connor wasn't talking anymore. 

Hank snapped his gaze back around the moment realization hit, stormy eyes as pale as the snow dusted sky above scanning the area with lightning speed, finding the man they sought to no longer be standing at the door as the android had left him. However, as the prototype’s speeding gaze continued over the scene, they finally fell on Detective Anderson a few feet past where he’d been standing earlier, the man’s eyes fixed on some scuff marks brushing away the snow a few feet from where he stood. 

“Detective.” Hank warned slowly, beginning to move back toward the man with hurried steps, unsure of what had made such recent looking marks and relatively certain Connor coming across it unexpectedly would be a less than optimal situation.

“These tracks end at this storage shed.” Detective Anderson mumbled softly, seeming to not really be talking to Hank so much as just voicing his thoughts to the wind as he absolutely failed to acknowledge the android’s call and reached out a hand to tug open the grated door of the shed. Just as the man’s fingers grazed the handle, however, the door flew open and a blur of motion burst forth from inside, Connor barely managing to stumble back a pace before everything went to hell.

Hank’s processors kicked into overdrive to analyze everything in a matter of seconds, timer ticking in the corner of his vision letting the android know he had less than no time to decide what to do. The thing that had burst forth from the shed was, in fact, the missing android, still wearing the customary working uniform of the station’s mechanical management and unscathed for the time being. None of this was important in comparison to the fact that the android in question had a gun trained on Connor and a finger poised over the trigger ready to pull it in a moment’s time. 

Preconstructions flickered through Hank’s vision, the machine’s systems automatically bringing up all his options and presenting their consequences in milliseconds. The prototype could easily tackle the android in a few seconds, a simple twist of the arm holding the gun would disarm his opponent and a single move more would have the deviant pinned - But that would not be before the android brought his finger down around the trigger and buried a bullet in Connor’s skull, having zero chance of missing at such a close range and equipped with the precision only a machine could display. 

Hank’s processors played through the situation automatically, running through the actions in a series of blocky stick figures to aid the android’s decision despite the fact that the HK800 model actually wanted them to do no such thing. Even in stick figure format, watching Connor’s head snap back with the force of a bullet being lodged in it before witnessing his lean frame crumple to the ground with the stillness of death was - With no other word to possibly describe it - horrific. 

That only left one other option. 

“Connor!” Hank gave a sharp shout for no logical reason he himself could identify, bolting forward before the deviant had a chance to react, bringing the detective’s gaze to himself for the brief moment that existed before the trigger would be pulled. The human’s android companion had only a second’s time to take in the terrified fear blazing in wide doe-eyes as they locked with his own before he slammed into the man, knocking them both back as he hastily wrapped both arms around the detective’s smaller frame as they went. 

Hank pressed one, large hand to the back of Connor’s head to keep the detective uninjured when they fell - As they undoubtedly would in approximately 3.56 seconds by the android’s calculations - burying the man’s face in the bulk of his shoulder where there would be no risk of a stray bullet finding its way past the machine’s body. Just as he did, the bullet struck, a searing sensation that wasn’t quite pain as the android could feel no such thing, but a livid strike of  _ wrong _ coursing over his sensors as the metal ripped through plastic shell and tore into his vital wires. Error messages and static alike came to fill the android’s vision, blinking and wavering in and out of existence as his LED pulsed blazing yellow and his grip on Connor tightened in the slightest. 

_ Biocomponent 8456w Damaged: Time remaining before shutdown: 0:03 _

The sound of more shots going off met the android’s audio processors as he felt his body lurch forward and fall, landing atop Connor’s as the familiar bang of a door being thrown open could be heard in the background of the electronic buzzing coming to fill the android’s skull.

_ 0:02 _

“Hank! Oh my god!” Gentle, lilting, even when high with panic - Definitely Connor.  He was safe. Good.

_ 0:01 _

“Fuck… No.” More shots.

_ 0:00 _

“Please. Not again.”

_ S#utd*wn i*m@in-ent// _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know if you fall during the first mission, Connor will be scared of heights in the Stratford Tower level?


	19. And He Thought Dying Was Gonna Be The Last Of His Problems

_ The wrinkled flier whipped noisily in the grip of a textureless breeze, gusting through an empty street lit only by the pale neon glow of the sign in the window. Hank’s footsteps fell silently on the hard cement below, the cracking gray glitching out under his feet and fizzling out of existence with every step, disappearing into a mess of static and code under his shoes before becoming whole again in his wake. This was, unexpected - The android couldn’t remember the sidewalk ever doing that before. _

_ The prototype reached out a slow hand to grasp the doorknob of the thick wooden door separating him from the bar inside, only to have his digits go through what was once coded to act as solid metal, hand swiping uselessly through the image that pixelated under his touch before all but vanishing entirely. Experimentally, Hank put a hand against the door and the wood fell away under his touch, sparking into lines of colorful static as the android cautiously moved through what had notably been a solid barrier the last time he was in this place.  _

_ The bar beyond the barrier was worse off than usual, where it was usually only blurry and incomplete if one focused on it hard enough, it was now beginning to fade into white nothingness on the edges, buzzing out of existence in the corners of Hank’s vision as he stepped the remainder of the way inside and let his gaze fall on the screen still positioned on the wall just behind the bar. It was still showing a Detroit Gears game but the scores had shifted and they were no longer winning.  _

_ “We’re losing.” Jeffrey’s voice sounded in Hank’s audio processor, bringing the android’s attention away from the screen to where the man sat atop one of the bar stools on the opposite side of the counter, looking out at the machine with a cold expression as he brought a short glass to his lips, though all that existed in the cup was buzzing static.  _

_ “That is most unfortunate, Fowler.” Hank replied stoically, placing his hands behind his back and gazing straight ahead at the AI, never once wavering from his professional attitude. _

_ “Not nearly as unfortunate as you losing that deviant this morning.” Jeffrey deadpanned flatly, narrowing his dark eyes to glare suspiciously at the android across the bar from him as if Hank had purposely let the malfunctioning android flee. “It was destroyed soon after you shut down so we were able to learn nothing from it.” The AI informed coldly, everything about him reeking of displeasure, from the chill in his voice to the accusatory glare he cast the android’s way. _

_ “That too, is most unfortunate, Fowler.” Hank agreed shortly, not so much as blinking as he stared evenly back at the disgruntled man across from him. _

_ “Why exactly did you allow it to happen then, HK800?” Fowler demanded angrily, slamming his drink - if one were kind enough to call it that - down upon the bar counter with a heavy bang of glass hitting wood. It was not that obnoxiously loud sound that gave Hank pause, however, but the use of his serial number, the title having become almost unfamiliar to him with the amount of times Connor called him by his given name and sounding oddy incorrect on Jeffrey’s tongue. _

_ “I believed preserving human life to be a higher priority than apprehending an android.” The machine replied stoically, refusing to allow his brief touch of discomfort to present itself in his actions as he remained resolutely still and kept his voice as flat and void of emotion as always. Besides, that was the most logical explanation, after all. Hank had been given this mission to eliminate deviant androids before they posed a threat to humanity in the interest of protecting humans as a whole. Thus, it would be entirely counterproductive to allow harm to come to a human for the sake of catching one deviant. It… Made sense.  _

_ “And I believe accessing a deviant’s memories would’ve proved quite useful to the mission.” Jeffrey stated flatly, dismissing Hank’s explanation. “This android, the one they call Markus, aims to free all androids. Putting it down is our top priority and, chances are, that deviant you let get away had information regarding its leaders location.” Fowler informed coldly, never once relenting in his disapproving scowl even as Hank felt his own features morph into a disbelieving frown. _

_ “Are you saying I should have let Connor die, Jeffrey?” Hank questioned in a voice far too low for his own liking, more of a growl than he should have been able to make. Something almost like anger sparked through the android’s wires, making his LED spin and pulse a fitful yellow as his hand twitched involuntarily at his side, as if trying to tighten into a fist before the machine forced himself into controlled stillness. _

_ “Detective Anderson is not more important than this mission, HK800.” Fowler all but snarled, standing up from his bar stool and taking a step forward, passing through the counter as if it were never even there to begin with, wood turning to static before vanishing into nothingness altogether in Jeffrey’s wake.  _

_ “He is valuable!” Hank argued immediately, the words springing from his lips before he had a chance to think them through, tumbling disobediently from his mouth without so much as consulting him about it first. “To the mission.” The android added hastily as Jeffrey’s stoic, cold frown twisted into an enraged glower though the AI said nothing more even after the machine’s belated correction. Still though, the android could justify his initial protest. If he himself were to die, his memories would simply be reuploaded into a new body and Cyberlife would send him on his merry way - But Connor was human. Hank was replaceable, Connor was not. It. Made. Sense. _

_ “What’s happening to this place?” Hank questioned blankly, watching the counter fritz back into the room once more before blinking out for good but all he received in response was a grim frown and a cold glare.  _

_ “An android recently went deviant and fled from Eden Club.” Jeffrey stated flatly, turning away from the android to cast his gaze toward the screen and its losing game as he spoke. “Find Anderson, get the case details, and check it out.” The man detailed rather than answering the android’s inquiry, the machine forced to do naught but give a curt nod of agreement in response to the demand despite the fact that his LED gave a quick spin before slowing back to calm blue once more. _

_ “This is your last chance, HK800.” Fowler’s final words met Hank’s audio processors as the android closed his eyes and was sent back to the real world.  _

Connor’s place of residence was a relatively short taxi ride away from Cyberlife’s headquarters which Hank stepped out of into the snow coated world beyond. Dusk had long since fallen over the city, the glowing streetlamps and flashing signs of Detroit lighting up the blackness to reveal nearly empty streets as the heavy snowfall chased away most traffic in the evening hours of that cold night. This in mind, the trip took a little under seventeen minutes and the android was soon stepping out of the automated vehicle and onto a sidewalk that didn’t vanish under his feet just before a small house in a quiet enough neighborhood. 

The house was painted a warm beige and soft light filtered out through the gray curtains pulled open to reveal the home beyond. A few rather unsettling lawn gnomes sat scattered about the small front yard, one smiling brightly as it leaned upon the head of another Connor must’ve accidentally knocked off at some point, the gnome’s “fallen foe” laying in a half dug grave nearby. The only other thing that existed outside the house was a bird bath set alongside a mailbox in the shape of a cat the poor postman would have to stick their hand inside the mouth of to deliver any mail and a wind chime hung off the porch to sway gently in the breeze, the light tones of its quiet music the only sound in the quiet street.

Hank’s footfalls crunched in the fresh snow as the android moved up the sidewalk to step onto the detective’s porch, pausing only to brush a few newly fallen snowflakes from his Cyberlife issued suit jacket before extending a hand to press a single digit into the doorbell positioned alongside the door itself before retracting his hand once more. The soft chimes of bells ringing met the machine’s audio processors from somewhere inside the house but after their gentle song, silence fell over all once more, no sound of movement or even a call of acknowledgement coming from inside.

“Detective Anderson?” Hank called experimentally, raising his voice to be heard through the walls only to be met with absolute quiet for his efforts, leaving the android to merely jam his finger into the doorbell once more, letting his digit remain much longer this time to continue the bell’s gentle chime for a solid twelve seconds before finally relenting. Still, silence. 

Hank stepped back from the door and glanced to his right to see a window fit into the side of the house just beyond the porch, the android moving toward the thing to try and get a look inside all while ignoring how creepy this might look to any unfortunate neighbors who happened to glance out their own window to find some man peering into Connor’s windows in the dead of night. The machine finally reached the glass pane and let his gaze roam around the room inside without much luck, finding only a couch to be visible from where he stood with a fish tank holding some kind of tropical fish set up alongside it on a short table. 

After a moment, Hank moved on, continuing around the house in search of some other vantage point or at least a way inside as the android rounded the corner of the building and came to walk alongside the house, scanning the side wall for another window as he approached the backyard. Finally, just as the machine neared the end of the home, his searching gaze fell on another panel of glass, from which a bright fluorescent glow flooded forth to glimmer on the freshly fallen snow so that it shimmered and sparkled in the pale light. The android moved forward and leaned in to let his gaze fall on the room beyond, quickly identifying it as a kitchen. A single table sat in the middle of the area and a fridge took up the greater portion of the far wall alongside a dishwasher and a cluttered counter littered with a brand new assortment of coffee mugs. Was that all Connor ever ate for fucks sake? 

All wonderings came to an abrupt halt, however, as Hank’s keen gaze caught sight of a shape upon the kitchen floor, layed out motionless across the pale tile. Connor, face down, curling hair cascading over the white flooring and body still as death.

Hank didn’t pause to consider the consequences of his action, drawing back his right arm before slamming a powerful fist forward into the frail glass of the window, connecting with the sheer surface and shattering it upon impact. The glass window cracked and splintered, the android’s hand breaking through and knocking a few, large shards to the floor below where they hit and shattered farther, sending millions of tiny pieces of the stuff skittering across the tile as Hank gripped the wooden frame of the broken window and pulled himself in after them. Glass shards caught on the machine’s jacket and tore into the fresh fabric as Hank pulled himself through, tearing at his sleeves and ripping the suit in more places than one but the android barely noticed as his feet hit the tile and he was on the move.

The HK800 model stumbled forward hastily but pulled up short as he finally came to stand before the collapsed man, taking in the sight before him and drawing conclusions from the data gathered to compile an image of what had actually transpired there in the kitchen. 

The first thing that the android noted was the presence of a gray, blue cat - Assumably Sakura, the priss - perched atop Connor’s head that blinked boredly up at the newcomer once before dipping her head and running her rough tongue against the already horribly tangled mess of the guy’s hair time and again with a soothing purr rumbling from her tiny body, as if Hank were not worth her attention. Connor wore a dark hoodie that looked like it’d been fashioned to fit someone three times the detective’s side, the oversized shirt paired with a pair of Hello Kitty pajama pants that looked like they’d certainly seen better days as the once fluffy pink fabric was beginning to fade and the cloth was beginning to tarnish and tear in some places. 

 

However, it was not the detective's pet or poor fashion choices that caught Hank’s attention and brought him to a halt - But rather the orange pill bottle clasped loosely in Connor’s slack hold and the blue pills spilling forth from it to litter the tile floor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> College = The death of me. Period.
> 
> But everyone's kind comments really brighten up this dismal hell hole :)


	20. The Shit Show

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are some wonderful sources on what to do if you suspect someone had overdosed:
> 
> https://ie.reachout.com/inform-yourself/alcohol-drugs-and-addiction/drugs/what-to-do-if-your-friend-has-overdosed/
> 
> https://drugabuse.com/taking-action-how-to-intervene-during-an-overdose/
> 
> https://www.banyantreatmentcenter.com/2018/01/10/signs-of-drug-overdose/
> 
> Please note that this story is not on that list. The methods implemented in the following chapter are in no way recommended - or safe. Do NOT do them!

“Detective?” Hank prompted softly, shooing the cat away with a swift brush of his hand before gripping the man’s shoulder and gently rolling him over to reveal his face, Connor unsettlingly limp and compliant in the android’s hold and worryingly unresponsive to the jostling movement. Curling locks of wayward hair fell over the man’s soft features and Hank didn’t bother to pause and consider his own actions before brushing them aside to reveal barely open eyes and gently parted lips, the detective’s coffee orbs distant and unseeing as they failed to focus on Hank even as the android leaned over the man to assess the situation. 

_ Dilated pupils. Slight tremor. Unresponsive behavior. Prescription drug use suspected. Likelihood of overdose: 100% _

“Detective, can you hear me?” Hank asked slowly, enunciating every word clearly as he placed a hand against the man’s soft cheek, attempting to guide the detective’s gaze toward himself with little luck. “ _ Connor. _ ” The android tried, hot flashes of  _ something _ coursing through his wires and straining his voice as the machine’s LED flickered burning red, bypassing yellow all together in his…  _ Fear?  _ That- No. That couldn’t be right. 

Detective Anderson twitched slightly at the prompt, eyelashes fluttering in a poor attempt at rousing awareness that only succeeded in leaving his coffee orbs shut in the end, but at least it was something. “Hhha-” Connor managed weakly, the faint noise that was only just vaguely recognizable as the android’s name nothing more than a broken breath of air that croaked out halfway through as the man’s body gave a sharp jerk under the machine’s fingertips that promised nothing good.  

Hank scanned through information as quick as he could download it: Causes, effects, solutions, treatments, anything he could get his hands on to aid him as he stared helplessly down at his human partner, unsure of what to do and certain his likelihood of success was only decreasing the longer he waited. Calling the authorities would be the most logical thing to do but, by Hank’s rapid calculations, they wouldn’t arrive in time and the android wholeheartedly refused to simply sit there and watch Connor die.

Hank had to do something... It was risky, and most certainly not the highest recommended method, but the android  _ had to do something.  _ The machine moved the hand he had kept pressed against Connor’s cheek, running it over softly sculpted cheekbones to lower down until his thumb hit the man’s jaw bone, moving his fingers on the same hand to the other side of the detective’s face until they pressed into the same structure. The android was able to open Connor’s mouth with little resistance, applying just a slight touch of pressure to the area’s he’d grasped so that the man’s lips fell open and his jaws stretched wide enough to allow the machine to do what he needed.

This was going to fucking suck.

Hank slipped two digits from his opposite hand past the entrance of Connor’s soft lips, his sensory receptors overflowing with data the android had no use for at the moment, far more concerned with making sure the detective didn’t die than how warm or wet his mouth was at the moment. The android coaxed his way carefully back along the man’s tongue, moving with slow paced caution to avoid prodding anything and damaging Detective Anderson more than he already was as his finger finally met the back of Connor’s throat. The machine brushed his digits carefully against the underside of the detective’s throat, curling them to gently touch the sensitive flesh there before hastily retracting them as quick as he could without risking harm to the man as Connor’s body gave a responsive lurch. 

Detective Anderson rolled to his side as his stomach heaved in response to the android’s probing, retching violently onto the tile floor in a series of lurching heaves as Hank carefully watched for any signs of trouble breathing in the aftermath lest anything clog the man’s throat. Gratefully, Connor seemed to be breathing fine and the detective gave a heavy groan as he caught himself on his elbows and lifted his upper body off the floor some as his stomach went for round two, the detective dipping his head low so his hair fell over his eyes as he gagged and coughed up another wet splatter of liquid onto the unfortunate kitchen floor. 

After a few moments of choked gasps and retching gags, Connor slumped back on his knees and braced his hands against the tile floor, fingers curled into white knuckled fists with the strain of it all as the detective slowly turned his head toward the android. Beads of sweat stuck wayward strands of hair to a paper white forehead, drug down by the weight of the liquid to fall into still less than focused eyes as they fixed on the machine, strained gasps of air that were far heavier than could be considered healthy still escaping parted lips in gentle heaves. 

“You’re dead.” Connor mumbled roughly, lilting voice less than smooth on his abused throat as his nearly incoherent words tumbled forth in the form of a barely guided breath of air. “I saw you die, right on top of me.” The detective insisted despite the fact that no one had tried to argue with him, stress levels rising as he spoke of the memory and squeezed his coffee eyes shut as if trying to clear the images from his memory like an android might dispose of a useless fragment of data. 

“My predecessor was unfortunately destroyed.” Hank began clinically as the pre-scripted response easily presented itself, yet still failing to fall into his normal protocol for answering such a question as the majority of his processing power still focused on reading the slightest shift and fluctuation in Connor’s heart rate and oxygen intake. “But my memories were uploaded into a new body so we can continue our investigation unhindered.” The android informed professionally as Connor slumped a bit to the side and the machine snapped a quick arm out to wrap around the man for stabilization, earning an unintelligible hum that was probably the butchered remains of some form of thanks. 

“All your memories? You’re still…” Connor tried to ask but ended up trailing off as he searched for the right words. “You’re still the same person?” The detective finally finished, somehow managing to sound concerned over such an insignificant detail when he himself had been playing tonsil hockey with death literal minutes ago. 

“Every program, piece of data, and memory has been reuploaded.” Hank assured confidently, running a quick scan of himself just to ensure the truth of his own words and finding everything to still be intact as he remembered it- But… That still wasn’t entirely truthful. Oddly enough, some things had been strangely buzzy when the android had first stepped out of Cyberlife. Just bits and pieces, random smudged lines that blurred a certain look cast his way and white noise where there should be a line of dialog stepping out of a car. Static ripping through memories of coffee and cigarettes with no logical explanation no matter how many times the machine ran a self-diagnostic to find and eliminate the problem, but it didn’t much matter in the end. Whatever the malfunction had been, it had worked out soon after he’d arrived at Connor’s… About the time Hank found his human companion face down on the kitchen floor. 

“But I must remind you, Detective, I am not a person.” The android corrected clinically, pushing away the confounding thoughts as his LED cycling yellow in confusion, a light smile broke out across the detective’s features leaving the robot absolutely clueless.

“Yep, that’s the Hanky Panky I know and love.” Connor affirmed softly, keen notes of relief evident in his voice before his expression fell way to a pained frown and a hand came to cover his stomach. “I think I’m gonna puke again.” The detective warned illy, eyes fluttering close and face twitching in a restrained grimace as a low groan forced its way past the man’s lips.

“That’s good, Detective.” Hank encouraged in a pleased tone, earning himself an open mouthed look of utter disbelief complete with dipped eyebrows and demanding eyes as the android gently tugged one of the detective’s slender arms around his own shoulder and slowly began to haul the man upright, getting the impression Connor would rather puke in the toilet than on his kitchen floor if given the option.

“No, it’s really fucking not.” Connor argued in a moan as Hank began to carefully guide him toward the bathroom, taking the majority of the man’s weight as they moved slowly across the tile floor toward the hallway beyond. “It feels like Satan fucked my guts with a spiked dildo lit on fire.” The detective informed eloquently, sagging heavily against his android companion as the machine guided them past the doorway and into the midnight blue painted hallway beyond.

“You’ve consumed an unhealthy dosage of medication, Detective.” Hank disputed carefully, half carrying, half dragging Connor down the hallway until they finally reached the white bathroom door at the far end of it. “Regurgitating the substance is likely one of the safer options for you at the moment,” the android railed off clinically, pushing the door open with his foot and carefully guiding Connor inside. As the machine made his way toward the toilet, human companion slung in tow, his gaze caught on a wide, square mirror with a few sticky notes stuck to it - And, more notably, a huge crack splintering out through the center of it.

“Keep smiling :)” Encouraged one note, a doodly smiley face jotted into the center of the neon slip of paper. “Stay strong!” Cheered another, a sketched barbell decorating the lower right hand corner. “It’s not your fault.” Promised the final sheet, the one stuck just over where the sprawling crack seemed to have originated from, the spindling lines of breakage spanning out from the shattered center. However, the word “not” had been scribbled out time and again, the word slashed over with the sharp lines of a pen a dozen times over, quite recently given the fact that the ink was still wet by Hank’s brief scan - Likely only a few hours ago.

A brief glance at Connor’s left hand revealed bloodied knuckles and Hank didn’t need the oh, so very helpful reconstruction of the detective punching a mirror his programming was more than happy to provide to figure out what had transpired.

“Why are you doing this?” Connor asked confusedly as Hank lowered him to the floor in front of the toilet, silencing any silent musings as the android carefully retracted his arms  to stand at the man’s side.

“I need you.” Hank replied simply, LED flickering yellow for a moment before cycling back to blue as he watched the man slump exhaustedly over the toilet bowl.

“You don’t.” Connor refused surely, the words sharp and confident despite the man’s current condition. “You need any human who can throw the color of their blood around to get you past all the shitty legalities.” The detective elaborated tiredly, running his hands through his curling hair as Hank waited for any sort of notification that would pick the words up as a mistruth but received none - Whatever Connor was implying, the man believed it.

“That’s not-” Hank began hastily, his words uncertain and non-scripted as the android scrambled only to be cut off a moment into his argument.

“Shit, Hank, you don’t want tickets to this shit show.” Connor insisted angrily, gesturing at the toilet in what the android assumed was an indication of the detective’s current condition and not an invitation to critique his choice of porcelain. “God damn, even Gavin would do!” The man sighed exasperatedly, stress levels picking up in the corner of Hank’s vision as the android took a step forward, though for what purpose he himself had no clue. 

“I do not want-” Hank insisted immediately but slammed his mouth shut before he could finish the thought. He was a machine. Machines didn’t  _ want.  _ “Officer Reed is not my partner.” The android finally tried again, unsure of the true meaning behind his own words but willing himself to communicate what he needed even if he himself were not exactly sure of what it was.

_ Connor Anderson: Close _ Informed the android’s programming as he finished his denial,  the machine watching something undefinable swim in Connor’s coffee eyes before it fell way to a heavy shadow of unmistakable guilt, though Hank could find no reason for this change...

However, the moment was ruined pretty quickly when Connor suddenly gagged, cheeks puffing up and eyes going wide before turning and hurling into the toilet bowl. 


	21. Snooping Around Your Partner’s Bedroom is a Great Way to Get Close, Right?

"Oh sweet Jesus Christ fucking the goddamn Easter Bunny,” Connor moaned as he drew his head back up slowly, wiping an unfortunate sleeve against his mouth before casting a glance in Hank’s direction, absolute exhaustion dulling usually bright eyes. “Please let me puke in peace, Hank. I can only imagine how gross I must look right now.” The detective groaned unhappily, sagging against the porcelain toilet bowl like it was the only comfort he had in this world. 

The android could easily understand how his companion reached this conclusion as the human did, in fact, look an absolute wreck. Connor’s cream skin was at least three shades paler than Hank remembered and his curling hair tangled about itself and stuck to his forehead in damp strands made limp with the weight of sweat so that it hung down to cover his coffee eyes and mask his expression. Even with his hair in the way though, Hank could still make out the dark circles marring the soft skin under the detective’s tired orbs and the red rims highlighting the very edges of his eyelids, the flesh there slightly swelled and irritated in a clear indication of earlier tears. Paired with the exhausted expression dominating the man’s features and the overall slump of his overworked body, is was probably safe to say Connor was less than the perfect picture of health and beauty. 

Still though, Hank wouldn’t say he looked gross. 

Either way, the android could understand the man’s desire to not have him looking over his shoulder whilst he retched into a toilet, so the machine gave an affirmative nod and made to take his leave of the bathroom. Yet, Hank found his hand brushing what he guessed was supposed to be comfortingly over the detective’s hair in what could only be described as a soothing pet as he made his retreat and couldn’t find it in himself to hastily retract his fingers as he probably should as Connor leaned softly into the touch, head tilting gently to the side to chase the robot’s caress. 

Letting his digits ghost slowly over the soft locks of the man’s hair as he went, the HK800 model moved slowly across the tile floor of the bathroom and stepped through the doorway into the hallway beyond, closing the door carefully behind him as he went to give Detective Anderson a feeling of privacy - Though it was really only a feeling as Hank’s specialized audio processors had no trouble catching the endless concert of choked gagging and miserable groans through the wooden door. Thinking ahead, the machine made for what appeared to be a bedroom just across the hall, deciding an oversized hoodie and pink pajama pants likely weren't the best choice of attire for investigating a sex club and well aware Connor would be lucky if he made it out of the front door at this point - So minimizing the number of tasks the man actually had to accomplish was really beneficial to both of them if you thought about it. It made… sense. 

The android felt around the wall blindly for a moment as he stepped into the darkened room, digits running aimlessly along the smooth surface of the wall until his fingertips finally collided with the sleek plastic of a light switch and flicked it up, bringing a warm overhead light to life. The yellow tinted rays fell on burgundy walls and wooden flooring, the only pieces of furniture disturbing the deep colored background being a low rising bed and a mahogany bookshelf set in the back corner of the room. 

The bookshelf… Hank would rather not look at: A mockery of organization and clusterfuck of too many things crammed into too little space, anime plushies battling it out with actual books for space on the overflowing shelves leaving little room left for the few obscure knickknacks crammed wherever some wood was left uncluttered to leave zero wasted space. Simon Vs. The Homosapien Agenda was laid out half open over Naruto Season 4: The Complete Box Set, a Pikachu plushie perched precariously atop an ancient Atari that would still function when plugged in by Hank’s quick assessment of its functional components. Bakugan cards scattered over all like a garnish to top of the horrendous dish Gordon Ramsay would turn over in his grave to see. It was, in short, a fucking disaster. 

However, the bed, on the other hand, seemed to be the polar opposite. Dark blankets sat in a jumbled mess atop the mattress but, by the android’s scan they hadn’t been moved from that singular position for days and, save for a pillow or two tossed to the foot of the bed for whatever ungodly reason, they were the only thing cluttering the mattress itself. Well, except for an obscure lump pushing one corner of the messy blankets up at an odd angle near the top of the thing, a unnoteworthy hump that really shouldn’t have caught Hank’s interest as much as it did.

The android only hesitated a moment longer before walking toward the bed, investigating and analyzing merely in his nature and the opportunity simply too well presented to ignore. Hank moved across the floor carefully, keeping his steps as light as a man made of metal possibly could, and pulled back the very corner of the blanket to reveal whatever hid underneath its plush folds. The item turned out to be a ragdoll style stuffed St. Bernard, with saggy limbs dragging far down off a felt body and an ovular head barely hanging on that lolled and swayed with even the slightest jostle. Glossy button eyes decorated the toy’s wide head, though one was knocked loose and hanging by a single thread more and one floppy ear was all but missing, the thing obviously not only old but well worn to boot.

_ S*ft//w@re Inst@bl*ty  _ Hank’s systems warned in a flickering font that blinked out as soon as it came up and the android swore something that almost registered as  _ endearment  _ sparked through his wires - But that wasn’t possible. It had to be a glitch. It  _ was _ a glitch. Period. 

The android placed the stuffed dog back safely in its original position and pulled the cover over it once more, leaving no evidence to his snooping as he stepped back from the bed to let his gaze trail to a small nightstand hitherto concealed behind the bulky piece of furniture. Hank cast a quick gaze back towards the hallway and upped his audio sensitivity just long enough to hear Connor moan something about the Great Overlord Cthulhu’s tentacles and his raped organs  before going into another round of retching before deciding he was safe and reaching out a hand toward the top drawer.

On the ever growing list of poor decisions Hank had ever made - Opening that drawer was on the very top. 

The android slammed the thing shut once more, a warning about a sudden fluctuation in his thirium pump regulator lightening in the corner of his vision as he felt the vital fluid flush to his artificial cheeks to dust them over with a deep blue - At least he could say one thing about his creators, they’d really designed him to fit Connor’s every taste down to the smallest (Or… not so small, rather) detail, though Hank shuddered to think of how exactly Cyberlife had gotten their hands on that piece of information. 

Clothes. Hank was here to find clothes. The android squeezed his eyes shut in a vain attempt to clear any thoughts pertaining to the contents of  _ that  _ drawer or, much bet- _ worse _ , the activities Connor may partake in with the contents of said drawer, having much more difficulty with that should-be-easy task than he’d ever like to admit and desperately praying to whatever benevolent god would listen to an android that Jeffrey could only access his memories and not his actual thoughts. Would Cyberlife question it if the robot specifically set up programming blocks against the intrusive images..? 

Not wanting to risk it, Hank opted to simply push the thoughts away manually as best he could and moved to where a wooden, white painted door was fit snugly into the wall on the opposite side of the room, knocked only slightly ajar to allow just a crack of darkness to creep forth. The android pulled the thing the rest of the way open to reveal the absolute landfill beyond, plastic hangers painted in bright, fluorescent shades littered the floor and the clothes they once held were thrown to disarray in their absence. Jackets hung slung halfway over a top shelf and jeans clung by a pant leg to the small group of brave hangers that yet swung precariously from the wooden rod spanning the length of the closet. Were those… Combat boots in the back? 

Hank let his LED cycle yellow for a moment, the android bringing up the weather report for that evening in the side of his vision to scan over it and assess the best clothing choice in regards to the forecast. Temperatures had plummeted from their already bitter chill since Hank had last been in the realm of the living, so to speak, and they only seemed intent on dropping further as the night progressed onwards to reach near hazardous levels. Snowfall seemed to only be worsening as well, having nearly doubled from the earlier flurries spitting pathetically onto the rooftop to a steady fall, accumulating to about four inches already and showing no signs of stopping anytime soon. Even if he did find something sufficiently warm in the junkyard that was the man’s closet, Hank shouldn't keep Connor out any longer than necessary. 

With this in mind, Hank made a quick scan of the closet, the color in his vision fading out to a dull gray to leave only the stark, white outlines of clothing as their make, size, and most advantageous attributes filed into an orderly list alongside the garments. Easily assessing the item with the most favorable statistics, a long trench coat at the bottom of the pile, the android kneeled down and gently moved a few handfuls of clothes aside until he could reach the thing and tugged it free from the wreckage, letting his vision return to normal as he grabbed the corner of one large lapel and hauled the coal colored coat up. However, as he did so, the robot’s attention was quickly ensnared by a blazingly white jacket that had been concealed underneath everything on the very bottom of the messy pile, the bright, pure color a stark contrast to the dark and warm shades of all else in the closet. 

The jacket was neatly folded, the only bit of cleanliness or order prevailing in the disarrayed closet though Hank couldn’t seem to figure out why it was here in the first place. The robot’s confusion stemmed from the obvious fact that it didn’t take a dozen scanners to figure out the garment wasn’t Connor’s size, nor had it ever been by the android’s calculations. The shoulders were too far set apart and the chest too broad to have ever fit the scrawny detective in this lifetime or any other.

It was not the startling color or poor fit of the jacket that caught Hank’s attention though but rather the unsettling fact that the garment was - In all senses of the word - Mangled. While once pristine white with black trimmings and collar that looked stiff enough to cut somebody, the thing was now tarnished beyond repair and a pathetic excuse for the professional attire it appeared to have once been. The cloth was torn to shreds, deep gashes ripping through the front of it to leave little left to speak for the chest of the garment and what was left of the thing was in no way in any better shape by anyone's standards. Blood stains - By Hank’s quick scan - marred the once clean fabric to stain it a dull pink, as if someone had tried to wash it over a dozen times to little avail and besides that the jacket was dirtied with long, almost black scuff marks over every available inch of material, like the wearer had been thrown - Or drug - across asphalt. 

Traces of salt water picked up in Hank’s sensors as the android analyzed the jacket as best he could with little to show for his efforts - A brand name, material composition, size… Nothing like  _ your human partner’s long lost cousin twice removed wore this  _ or anything helpful like that. The substance wasn’t fresh, but was still wholly absorbed into the fabric, creating a reconstruction of someone trying to wash the thing again and again to no avail only to despair when forced to accept that their efforts were futile. Not that Hank had asked for - nor wanted - such a reconstruction. He did not need to see Connor sobbing over a shirt, thank you very much, even if it was in stick figure format and he was an emotionless, unaffected machine. Because he was. Unaffected. He was! He… He  _ had  _ to be.  

  
_ S*ftw@re// inst@bili*y  _ Argued his programming as the android carefully placed a bulky,  mauve, knit sweater over the discovered jacket and tried to think as little as possible about it, pulling himself back up off the floor to continue with the task at hand. 


	22. It’s Not Snooping if it’s Part of Your Mission

Pants were easy enough to procure, the only options being a variety of dress pants that would be no match for the weather and a few pairs of dark jeans, one of which Hank quickly grabbed and slung over his arm with the trench coat. An undershirt, however, seemed determined to prove more difficult. Hoodies seemed to be Connor’s attire of choice, the endless sea of the heavy, bulky things only disturbed by the occasional oversized sweater that would be of no more use to the robot. Not a single t-shirt or thin jacket in sight, as if the man were intent on never owning a single thing less than the bulk of a small planet.

The only other option appeared to be a few white button ups, nearly identical to the ones Hank had seen Detective Anderson wear the past few days that littered the massacre of material here and there. The android felt his lips draw down into a frown as the thin material was less than what he had hoped for to combat the frigid evening but the machine couldn’t very well bring Connor the oversized “Jingle my bells” sweater knitted from the most atrocious shades of red and green someone could imagine or anything of the like - So a button up would have to do. 

Hank grabbed a random one from the top of the pile, a thin, black tie still hanging limply around the collar of the thing as he tossed it over his arm and finally pulled the closet door shut to return to his companion. The robot made his way back through the room and crossed the hallway to the bathroom, reaching out and pulling open the handle of the door beyond without pause to present Detective Anderson with his findings and complete his task quickly and efficiently as he was designed to - Until Hank’s eyes fell on a bared expanse of skin and he suddenly couldn’t quite remember was his task actually was. 

Connor’s hoodie had been tossed aside, leaving the pale skin of his back exposed all the way down to the low hanging waistline of his pajama pants, which had been untied and were hastily beginning to slump down as if they weren't quite the detective’s size and were far more interested on having a romantic love affair with the tile floor below than clinging to the man’s now exposed hip bones where they barely clung to the jutting curves - Revealing the waistline and beginnings of a pair of tight fitting boxer briefs with cartoon pandas printed across them. Hank could only be grateful Detective Anderson was turned away from him as the clinging material left nothing to the imagination.

The freckles that littered Connor’s neck and speckled across his cheeks and jaw bone here and there continued on down his back, dusting across where the outline of his chest and then his ribs could be followed into the trimmed slope of his stomach down to the curve of his hips. Aside from them, however, the pale expanse of flesh was marred with painful looking scars, now light pink with age but wide and sprawling nevertheless, winding all the way from the peaks of his angular shoulders to the dip of his lower back and trailing around towards his front where Hank’s vision was cut off.

“I was gonna shower so I didn’t smell like a hospital dumpster!” Connor yelped defensively - as if he needed an excuse for Hank bursting into his bathroom unannounced - slamming his arms across his front only to flail and try to struggle his pants a bit back up before snapping his arms across his chest and stomach once more.

“I brought some clothes!” Hank explained hastily, holding up said clothes as if trying to prove his words, though no one had doubted them, before dropping the cloth as if it had burned him and stumbling back into the hallway before any more could be said, slamming the door in his wake. Caution:  _ System temperature rising,  _ warned a notification in the android’s vision as he stared hard at the carpeted floor of the hall, gazing intently at the innocent threads as if the image would burn itself into his eyes and replace the picture he currently had seared there if he looked at them hard enough. 

Unsurprisingly, it didn’t work. ( _ S*ftw@re I*st@bil*ty,  _ his systems proved that) 

Instead, the android did what he was designed to do to try to get himself set back on course - Found a task to complete.

_ From Partnership With Connor _

_ → Learn More About Connor _

Hank stepped away from the door and proceeded down the hallway into the living room he’d seen very little of in his rush to aid his companion, resolutely telling himself that a person’s home said the most about him and that exploring Connor’s house would provide important information, always reminding himself that this was, in no way, a flimsy excuse and was a totally necessary use of his processing power - So he wouldn’t have time to process anything else. The android stepped into the dark room beyond and let his gaze wander slowly over the scene, taking in all he could and filing it away in his ever growing Connor Anderson section that only ever seemed to accumulate random bits and pieces without bothering to design a way of connecting them, the man still as much as a mystery to the android as he was the moment he first pointed finger guns at the machine and told him he was the man of his dreams.

The room was dark, beige walls falling into oaken floors with no light prevailing to reveal them save for the blue tinted flickering shine of a large television atop a stand at the far wall and the warm glow of a bulb built into the fish tank Hank had seen from the window earlier. The android approached the tank first, the small rectangular container sitting atop a small circular table alongside a short leather couch a few feet away from the television which played Die Hard at a low volume to create a stable but unobtrusive background noise - Though, while that statistical analysis should’ve probably been the first thing that the android registered, the first thought that actually prevailed in Hank’s head was a remembrance of Connor, leaned back in his chair with a light smile playing across his lips as he mentioned loving the classics.

The fish tank was well decorated, with vibrant pieces of bright orange coral fit snugly into a collection of glimmering blue and orange pebbles that played nicely off the shimmering scales of the fish itself as it swam over them. A tiny, ceramic castle modeled after what Hank’s databases asserted to be the Hogwarts tower from an ever popular book series that had somehow transversed the hold of time sat in the center of the tank, nestled into the fluorescent rocks alongside a few plastic plants that’s waxy leaves swayed gently with the currents of the tank’s softly humming filter. A few various rock decorations large enough for the fish to hide away in sat here and there but the thing that made Hank pause was the small ceramic pineapple with two circle windows, a tiny chimney, and a metal door sculpted into it that sat alone in a corner all to itself - As if the other decorations were intimidated by its raw power and shied from its godly presence.

The fish that called this bright and warm display home swam up to the edge of the tank as Hank approached, floating still near the center of the glass panel as if eyeing the robot up before releasing a few bubbles from its ever opening and closing lips. The fish’s head was a light blue that continued down its ovular body to be interrupted by bright orange stripes until the pattern proceeded on down the animal’s rounded tail to end in ribbed orange tips, the same holding true for the slightly jagged fins jutting from both the top and bottom of the fish’s body. It’s scales glimmered merrily in the warm overhead light of the tank and when Hank reached a tentative finger up to the edge of the glass, the fish slowly swam languidly after it whenever the robot moved the digit.  _ Dwarf gourami (Trichogaster lalius) _ Hank’s programming informed, though the robot certainly didn’t see why it mattered. Couldn’t he just enjoy the stupid fish for god’s sake?

_ No. _ He couldn’t. He was a machine. Machine’s did not enjoy things. Machine’s analyzed and performed. Period. 

Hank pulled away from the tank, pushing away any such ludicrous thoughts as something else caught his attention and the android moved nearer the couch, where just before the furniture lay what appeared to be a fallen tablet among a new forest of coffee cups lying haphazardly about, leaking the dregs of their staining contents onto the floor below. 

The electronic device still glowed a faint blue that reflected off the hardwood floor and when the robot  _ extremely _ tentatively - What? He had already blundered into enough of Connor’s private life for one evening, thank you. Who knew what would be on his tablet? Hank was not exactly in the mood to see if Cyberlife created him with protocols to match Connor’s porn history - reached out a hand to turn it over, he found it to be left unlocked and pulled up to a list of files on deviant androids. Another tab held Cyberlife records, a different one a history of androids, a third posed the question “what is humanity?” and after that “what does it mean to be alive?” All had various notes scribbled in some illegible font not even Hank could decipher, though the android was able to pick out a few choice words such as “Emotional shock?” “Fear?” “Love? and  _ “Tears?” _

Hank tapped into the tablet’s data history and found the final scrawl to have been in scribbled at 6:47 AM this morning and, pairing this with the position he’d found the tablet on the floor, the android was easily able to come up with a reconstruction of Connor working himself there until he eventually passed out - Though considering the man had reported to the office at promptly 7:45 that day, Hank was impressed Detective Anderson was still standing.

Living room thoroughly analyzed, Hank moved on toward the kitchen, though, as he went, the android couldn’t help but run a self-scan in search of something Connor’s notes had peaked his interest in. LED whirling, the HK800 model’s processors ran through themselves, assessing every wire and line of code down to the smallest touch of binary coursing through his systems, running everything through twice and still coming up with nothing.

He didn’t have a crying protocol.

The kitchen was a wide area, well lit with a few rows of bright fluorescent lights casting the place in an almost sickly green hue that only seemed intent on beating down on all that had transpired in the room and bringing it all to light with the unforgiving harshness of its merciless shine. A black painted fridge stood alongside a granite counter with a dishwasher built into it and more mugs littering its top, all with ridiculous catch phrases such as “Don’t talk until empty” and “Blow me, I’m hot” printed across them. However, the sleek door of the fridge had been opened slightly, letting a cool mist drift steadily from the opening to dissipate into the warmer air beyond though Hank wouldn’t go so far as to call the house comfortably warm or anything so giving and it was probably safe to assume Connor hadn’t bothered to turn on the heat.

_ Turn on heat _ A prompt appeared in the corner of Hank’s vision and the android simply opted not to think about why this was the case - He himself hadn't the capability to feel cold - as he reached towards the wall where a thermostat was visible and complied willingly. Now certain that Connor wouldn’t accidentally freeze himself to death, the robot moved on towards the open fridge, stepping around the circular table in the middle of the room to come to a halt in front of the thing. As he extended a hand to push the door closed once again, the android’s gaze lingered on the inside of the fridge itself, finding the shelves to be surprisingly more empty than he’d expected them to be. A box of coffee creamer sat on the top shelf alongside an apple that had gone well passed its time and near them a can of whipped cream lay unopened on its side but besides that, there was little to speak for.

_ Remind Connor to buy groceries _ Hank set a reminder for himself as he finally pushed the fridge door shut and let his searching gaze wander elsewhere, his eyes finally landing on the bottle of pills that had fallen from Connor’s limp hand and now lay spilled across the tile floor. The android bent down and carefully plucked up the orange container from where it lay, turning the smooth plastic over in his hand until he could read the label itself and let his orbs flick over the words printed there, LED blinking, spinning, flashing a constant yellow.

Antidepressants, prescribed to one Connor Anderson - Because, you know, when partnered with a human it might’ve been a good idea to look up their medical history, you may find interesting information like, oh, I don’t know, the fact that they were diagnosed with depression and anxiety in the year 2025. Unlike Hank - The most advanced prototype technology had to offer  _ who should’ve thought of this  _ \- Who did none of this until that very moment. Whoops. 

However, more concerning than that was the dosage listed on the bottle, nearly a third of the amount that had been present in Connor’s systems from what the android could gather of a quick scan of the bile still pooled on the kitchen floor. Hank focused his audio processors towards the bathroom for a moment and found the shower water to already be turned off, letting him know he likely only had a few more minutes to investigate before his companion would emerge. “Detective Anderson?” The machine called experimentally, still eyeing the numbers on the bottle just to make sure he’d read them correctly as he waited for a reply. 

“Yeah?” Connor’s lilting voice drifted back a moment later, the man at least sounding notably more alert after his shower, though this change was likely rather do to the drug being purged from his system.

“My sensors detected an amount far greater than the prescribed dosage of this medication in your systems.” Hank informed carefully, LED cycling a slow yellow before picking up to flash the unsettled color when his companion failed to reply for a few long moments.

“I must’ve…” Connor began hastily after his beat of silence but trailed off again not a moment later with an entirely unhelpful ‘um.’ “Misread it.” The detective finally settled on easily, a certain casualness to his voice that might’ve been convincing if not for the flashing notification in the center of Hank’s vision declaring the words a falsehood.

Finally having something to label Connor’s apparent disregard for his own safety, the words  _ Connor has suicidal tendencies  _ blinked into existence on the edge of Hank’s vision and lingered there as the android failed to file the fact away for a long time...


	23. The Wall Between Us

A noisy crash startled Hank out of his thoughts, the sound of something weighty smashing into the ground below followed by the shattering of glass meeting his audio processors and drawing the robot’s attention towards the table where the sound seemed to have originated from. There, atop the wooden structure perched Connor’s cat, lapping disinterestedly at a paw before brushing it over one of her ears in a perfect display of innocence that might’ve been believable if not for the overturned picture frame on the ground below the feline’s perch. 

Hank didn’t hesitate before strolling over to pluck the fallen item from the ground, thinking little of it as he took the picture in his hand and pulled it up to place it back on the table where it belonged. However, as the android flipped the frame over to place it back upright, he paused, LED cycling a thoughtful yellow as he eyed the image. The picture was of a boy, who, for a long moment, Hank mistook to be Connor - But, closer inspection proved this not to be the case.

The guy looked nearly identical to the young detective - Even the android's facial scan mistaking the unknown person for his human companion for a brief moment, trying to bring up the already familiar details of one Connor Anderson before correcting itself. However, the boy’s hair was a few shades lighter than Hank’s partner’s and laid flat rather than bounce in soft curls like Connor’s. His features didn’t hold quite the same softness as the detective’s either, a certain harshness to the hard build of his brows and the flat line of his lips that wasn’t present in Connor’s gentle face and warm expression. Besides that, the person in the picture was broader than Detective Anderson, his shoulders set much farther apart and everything about him overall bulkier than the lean framed detective.

The most glaring difference though, were the boy’s eyes. While Connor’s own orbs were wide and open, mahogany brown, soft and inviting to give the man a trustable look, the person in the picture’s eyes were nearly the exact opposite. Pale blue and ice cold, there was no trace of the of constantly visible emotion swimming in Connor’s hopeful eyes, an unfeeling brick wall where Hank’s human presented a window straight to his core. Even as the boy in the picture’s nearly straight lips peaked up in the beginnings of a smile, his eyes remained unforgiving and piercing, leaving Hank feeling as if he were staring straight into an ice bath rather than someone’s companionable gaze.

_ Niles Anderson. November 12, 2008 - January 1, 2025. Criminal history: Underage smoking. Physical altercation involving club owner, Elijah Kamski - Incident dated January 1st, 2025. _

“Do all androids snoop this much,” Connor’s familiar lilting voice met Hank’s ears, startling the android out of his thoughts before he could get too far into them. “Or is it just you?” The man chided but his words held no malice, rising and falling softly over the jest in a gentle wave that dipped lower than usual as the sound of his light footfalls approaching joined the serenade.

“Your-!” Hank defended hasily, hands tightening unintentionally around the wooden frame of the picture as he searched for words without much success. “Your cat knocked it over!” The android protested quickly, alerts blinking through his vision without slowing long enough for him to actually view a single one of them as his gaze finally snapped up to fall on Connor only to lose whatever train of thought he’d been pursuing the moment his orbs landed on the man.

Detective Anderson had donned the long, dark trench coat that Hank had brought him, though the guy kept shoving his hands into the front pockets of the thing and pulling it tight around himself only to let the two sides fall open once more before beginning the whole process all over again. Under it remained the button up undershirt, left to hang untucked past the man’s dark jeans so that it wrinkled down the front and caught at the waistband of his pants on one side to ride up the slightest bit. Paired with the thin back tie done almost correctly, the detective actually looked…

That wasn’t the point. 

Said point in fact here being, Connor had pulled his hands up to rub some last few remaining water droplets from his eyes, butt of his palms pressed into his eyelids so they squeezed tightly shut and left their familiar orbs concealed. His usually curling hair had been plastered straight to his head with the weight of the water and lay flat without hint of its usual soft curl, leaving Hank to flick his gaze back to the picture he still held for a moment before snapping it back to the man before him. The appearance was simply too similar - And the boy in the picture was many years dead. It was... Unsettling. 

However, Connor finally pulled his hands away from his eyes a moment later, reopening soft, coffee orbs to blink curiously at Hank who must’ve been staring, water droplets still clinging to his long lashes despite his best efforts as he cocked his head a bit to the side, wet hair falling in that direction to send water droplets flying. “Do I have something on my face?” The detective questioned confusedly, small frown playing across his lips. “Because I swear I scrubbed everything twice.” The man informed lightly, dragging a finger against his lower lip just in case before letting his hand drop back to his side with a shrug when it came up clean. 

“No, Detective.” Hank answered hastily, LED whirling. “It’s just-” The machine tried to elaborate but couldn’t seem to find quite the right words, letting his gaze drift back to the image without bothering to finish whatever statement he’d started. 

“Oh.” Connor mumbled a moment later, however, apparently having reached the correct conclusion on his own as he moved the rest of the way across the room to where the robot still stood motionless. “It’s okay, we do look pretty similar.” The man offered, finally coming to a halt just in front of the android to stare at the frame clasped within his hands, eyes soft yet unbearably pained as Hank raised his head to lock gazes with his companion. “We actually used to fuck around with people like that a lot.” The detective reminisced quietly, gentle voice dropping to a breath of a whisper that lilted delicately over the words like a paper boat swaying atop a still ocean.

“This is your brother.” Hank inferred, voice reaching a softness he himself didn’t know his mechanical voice box was capable of, remembering Connor having mentioned Sakura being a gift from his brother before but never thinking much of it until now. 

Connor gave a soft hum of acknowledgement, extending a hand towards the frame but failing to reclaim it as Hank had supposed he’d intended, instead leaving the picture in the android's grasp as he ran a finger along the jagged crack splintering the glass panel the item had endured when knocked from the table. “He was younger than me but everyone always thought he was older.” The man recalled softly, gaze becoming distant as a slight tremor visibly began shaking through his extended hand. “‘Cause he was taller than me and had his shit together.” Detective Anderson relaid gently, sad smile tugging at his lips as he finally retracted his hand and turned away, blinking rapidly a few times before turning back with what anyone else might mistake for any easy smile painted across his face as he shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned back on his heels with a casualness that could’ve fooled millions. 

It didn’t fool Hank. The android’s fingers twitched, unsure of what exactly he intended to do but feeling the urge to reach out nevertheless, to offer some form of comfort no matter how synthetic and machine it may be. However, any such movement came to an abrupt stop as the robot lifted his hand naught but a few centimeters only to be halted by a barrier of some sort, red lines flashing across the HK800 model’s vision to from a sort of grid that seemed to serve as a wall. Hank placed his digits lightly against the transparent restraint between him and Connor, the thing feeling solid under his grip despite the fact that it was obviously not part of this world, bits of of coding and numbers visibly running through its seemingly solid lines to assure the android the wall was simply some construct of his own programming. 

It didn’t make any sense. 

Certainly, offering Connor reassurance held no pertinence to the mission - But it would harm it in no way either! A programming block against reaching out to the man was completely unnecessary and a worthless use of Jeffrey’s time - For Hank knew the AI was the only one who could set up such blocks in his coding. Besides, Connor was his assigned partner, getting along with the detective was essential to the mission running smoothly and a bond between them would likely prove to make working together a more productive experience: It made sense! 

_ It made sense _ Hank insisted silently, something almost like irritation sparking through his wires as he pressed his hand a bit harder against the wall and willed it away, conviction pouring gasoline on to the unspoken thought and bringing the crackling blaze to a roar - Still, the wall didn’t yield and the android reluctantly let his hand drop once more, reminding himself to ask Jeffrey a big ‘ol  _ what the hell? _ the next time he saw the AI. 

“He was a lot more level headed than me, professional, reasonable.” Connor went on gently, bringing the android back to reality after a quiet moment. “You would’ve liked him.” The detective finally concluded with a visibly wavering smile, hands clenching and unclenching at his side as the android fought back the urge to try and touch him again, seeing as it had just left him dumbly caressing thin air last time.

“If he was anything like you, Detective.” Hank began slowly, uncertain of his words but unwilling to hesitate and allow his programming to block him again. “I’m sure I would’ve.” The android finally concluded, finding himself unexpectedly certain of the words as they passed his lips.

“He was nothing like me.” Connor snorted but there was a certain softness behind the words and a blue arrow shown clearly in the corner of Hank’s vision as the man raised his gaze to give the machine a smile that felt a little less forced. “Hey, Hank?” Detective Anderson abruptly prompted, the words accompanied by an awkward chuckle as the detective fiddled absently with his tie before sticking his hand back into his pocket - But Hank had long since come to recognize Detective Anderson’s need to do something with his hands, only ever still when he had a cigarette between his teeth to occupy his restless digits with. 

“Are you gonna actually tell me what you’re doing in my house at the middle of the night?” The man inquired lightly, forcing the conversation onwards and burying away any damage under twenty layers of sarcasm. “Or am I to just assume you’re my devoted stalker? Because, despite my Mama’s warnings, I still think I’d be pretty flattered if a catch like you was stalking my windows.” The detective added cheekily, flashing the android a flirty grin complete with a charming wink and finger guns as it was always the whole nine yards with Connor.

“We’ve been assigned to investigate a run away android.” Hank replied immediately, standing a little straighter as he always did when answering a question, professionalism literally programmed into his very core - Though the android couldn’t imagine how he must look with his rigid posture and carefully controlled words next to Connor, the picture perfect opposite of everything the machine had been designed to be. 

“Sounds pretty upfront.” Detective Anderson offered casually, shrugging lightly and giving his companion a nod to continue as he leaned back against the kitchen table and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Deviancy is suspected.” Hank asserted rather pointlessly, the fact sounding assumable and pointless even to his own mechanical ears. “But we will have to visit the police station to obtain the case files and get more information.” The android continued on… Stalling. He shouldn’t be stalling. There was no getting around this - And it shouldn’t matter anyway. It shouldn't. It did no-…  _ It shouldn’t. _

“Alright. Where we heading to?” Conor threw out lightly, already pushing off the kitchen table and beginning to stroll towards where his keys sat, for whatever reason, on the floor by the door - Completely unaware he’d just hammered the final nail into a steel coffin.

Hank’s LED circled yellow, spinning, spinning, spinning and showing no signs of stopping any time soon as the android hesitated - But finally his coding won out, having registered a question and now demanding he speak the answer as he was programmed to. 

“Eden Club.” The machine finally admitted flatly - And, for the first time, Hank wished he didn't have so many sensors so eager to tell him about heart rate and stress levels so he wouldn’t be forced to witness the absolute panic that came over Connor the moment the words left his mouth. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glad to see you all are still enjoying this! Your encouragement is amazing :)


	24. Held Together by Stitchwork

“Come again?” Connor tried to jest; but what was supposed to be a casual snark came out nothing more than a choked sounding croak, his hand flying to his pocket to rummage about inside the black abyss. “That-” The man tried but his words ended on a stressed huff, the hand not buried in his pocket flying up to comb back his damp hair as the mahogany locks slowly began to dry, a few strands falling free of the swept back look almost instantly to fall into the detective’s wide eyes. “That place is closed, Hank.” Connor finally managed, though it didn’t take a million dollar machine to figure out the man was attempting to reassure himself of this rather than actually convince anyone else.

Hank opened his mouth, ready to deliver the facts as he, as a machine, should. However, just as the android prepared to do just that, Connor snapped his gaze up to lock eyes with him, handing the words on his tongue a death sentence on a huge, silver platter. The man’s doe eyes were the size of the moon just peeking through the dark clouds outside as they opened up and released their sorrows upon the world in the form of a soft white dust drifting slowly down to the silent earth below. Their deep depths were practically glowing with disbelief, the blank unrecognition flickering about and glinting off his slightly dilated pupils but mixed in with that was undeniable touch of fear and besides that  _ pleading. _

“I…” Hank began but couldn’t seem to decide where to take his own words, fully aware that the most logical course of action was to relay the facts, yet, at the same time, certain that was the last course of action he wanted to take. “I’m sorry, Detective.” Is all the android finally came up with, partially wishing he didn’t mean the words as much as he knew himself to - He shouldn't. He  _ really  _ shouldn’t. But with Connor’s stuttering heart rate in the corner of his vision and his human partner staring at him with such unabashedly open vulnerability, the was nothing the machine could do. “I  _ am  _ sorry, Connor.” Hank restated once more, trying to put as much truth and conviction as a machine possibly could into the numbers and lines of code that, when ran together in a certain sequence, would allow him to speak.

Connor let out a slow breath, allowing his coffee obs to flutter shut for a moment as he drew something from his pocket and squeezed his fingers tight about it, knuckles turning white from the sheer force of his grip. The item revealed itself to be the man’s lighter upon further inspection but Hank had little time to think of that as Detective Anderson moved to slip the thing safely back into his pocket a moment after, breath evening out some and eyes reopening as he did so. “Don’t worry about me, Robocop.” The man eventually blew off lightly, shoving his hands into his pockets and leaning back slightly on his heels

“Both your accelerated heart rate and increased stress levels warrant concern, Detective.” Hank argued slowly, narrowing his eyes at the man only to receive a stiff shouldered shrug in lieu of a response. However, as the human tried to offer this dismissive gesture, jerking his shoulder blades upwards sharply and rolling them back, a visible wince contorted his soft features, his lower lip suddenly snapping between his teeth and his eyes squeezing shut for a fraction of a moment.

“Is your shoulder still bothering you, Detective?” The android inquired immediately, taking a small step forward without really thinking about it before remembering himself and falling still once more. 

Connor opened his mouth and brought his hand up for a dismissive wave almost instantly but slowly the man paused, letting his extended hand fall hesitantly back to his side as he gazed oddly at Hank, expression momentarily unreadable before he shifted awkwardly and averted his eyes. “It’s fin-” The human began flippantly but stopped himself once more, seeming unable to decide on something before seeming to steel himself a bit. “Well, actually… Yeah. A bit.” The detective finally confessed uncertainly, hesitating a moment before bringing his gaze back to Hank, and seeming to relax some as he locked eyes with the robot and offered a sort of lopsided smile. “It hurts like a fucking bitch.” Connor informed lightly, humor edging its way into his lilting tones as he apparently became more sure of the choice he’d made.

_ Trust _ Hank’s processors recognized instantly.  _ Connor trusts you _ . A simple conclusion drawn from a collection of facts, pure data. Something else to sort away in the machine’s ever growing Connor Anderson section of memory. Ones and zeros.

( _ S*ftware**Inst*bility  _ A glaring message in the corner of the android’s vision argued.)

“I stitched it up a couple of days ago and it was fine.” Connor began again, pulling Hank back from his thoughts with that less than reassuring declaration, the likelihood of Detective Anderson being trained on how to properly do such a thing a little under less than nothing. “But I don’t think our romantic date with death did it any favors.” The man relayed lightly, brushing his hand tentatively over the concealed wound and wincing slightly as if recalling something painful. “You’re not exactly light, you know.” The human scoffed teasingly, playful smirk tugging at his lips as he finally reached down to pluck his car keys from where they still sat upon the floor.

“I am 69% metal.” Hank informed in what someone could’ve almost considered a jovial tone if they were perhaps deaf in one ear and a particularly giving person that also happened to be smoking marijuana at the moment. All he received in response though was an amused snort and a confused eyebrow raise that explained absolutely nothing. 

“Well, my job shouldn’t be to tough then.” Connor began easily, familiar lopsided smile paired with the mischievous glint lighting his coffee eyes promising nothing innocent. “69% of you’s already hard for me.” The man practically purred suggestively, cocking his uninjured shoulder up to glance over it as he drew up from grabbing the keys, notably curving his back far more than was strictly necessary for such an action - Hank had to wonder what it would feel like to wipe that cocky smirk off the man’s face by informing him of the simple fact that his joke was incorrect - The numbers were not quite right at the moment.

“If I had a laughter protocol, Detective, I’m sure it would be activated right now.” The android opted to reply simply instead, though this still earned a light chuckle from Connor as the man twirled his keys around his index finger.

“Was that a joke?” Detective Anderson gaped disbelievingly. “Did Hank, the robo hardass, just make a real, honest to god joke?” The man gasped, throwing his hands up to his mouth in faux shock before lifting a finger to wipe away a fake tear. “Honey, get the camera! I think I might cry!” Connor cried dramatically, clutching his heart and giving a loud sniffle to really sell his act while Hank searched his database for a quick-download eye rolling program. (And, maybe, glanced around for a laughter protocol too. Maybe.)

“I am glad to have improved your emotional state, Detective.” Hank felt pass his lips before he really had a chance to think about it, lest the robot would've chomped down on the words that should never have even been able to form themselves in his mechanical head. He really needed to stop…  _ whatever  _ this was. 

“And I’m glad I went to college for four years so I understood that translates to niceness.” Connor chuckled lightly, beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips as he tucked his keys away into the depths of his pockets and began to walk towards the front door.

“If you believe you’ve reopened stitches I would recommend visiting a hospital to have them properly redone by a licensed medical professional before we go anywhere, Detective.” Hank insisted resolutely, making no moves to follow his human companion nor even so much as budging an inch from his spot in the kitchen. 

“I,” Connor began but let his words die for a moment, gaze flicking to where the picture of his brother still sat atop the kitchen table, stress levels spiking and heart rate stuttering for a moment. “I don’t want to go there.” The man admitted quickly, sounding nervous but certain of his words nevertheless, assuring the robot there would be no point in arguing the matter.

Fine.

“Will you allow me to do them, Detective?” Hank questioned abruptly, LED flickering as his processors ran through solutions in the blink of an eye. “I can download a medical emergency protocol that should allow me to perform the procedure adequately.” The android went on to explain hastily, finding this to be the only solution that didn’t include forcing the detective to do anything that would cause discomfort yet didn’t end in Connor taking a needle to his own shoulder either. 

Connor seemed more surprised than anything, a promising reaction that at least didn’t constitute an immediate refusal like Hank had been expecting. The man cocked his head to the side slightly, hair that was beginning to dry and regain some of its usual curl falling into coffee eyes that swam with confusion yet glowed with a touch of thoughtfulness as they fixed on the robot. “Sure, knock yourself out.” The detective agreed easily, seeming far more flippant about this than Hank would have expected as the man simply gave a one shouldered shrug and gestured toward a drawer on the far side of the kitchen. “Shit I usually use is in there.” Connor informed casually, despite the fact that his words fell sour on the android’s ears, the machine having not really realized that this was likely a common occurrence considering his companion’s risky line of work and sure - If he could feel, of course - That he wouldn’t feel okay with this notion.

All Hank could do in the here and now though was give a curt nod and move toward the drawer indicated, grabbing the small metal handle fit into the wooden surface of the thing and tugging it open to reveal a white, plastic box with a large red cross printed across it inside. The android unclasped the small metal hold at the top of the first aid kit and lifted the plastic lid, letting his gaze scan over a nearly used up roll of gauze, a box of band-aids decorated with cartoon bunnies, and a bottle of peroxide before he finally found the thread and needle he was looking for as well as a pair of medical tweezers. The HK800 model grabbed the items and, after a moment of consideration, grabbed the peroxide and a plush cotton ball as well before closing everything back up again. 

“Can you sit on the table, Detective?” Hank called behind him as he pushed the drawer shut once more and turned to see his companion comply with his request, Connor bracing his hands on the flat wooden surface before hoisting himself up onto it with a slight jump. The android moved back across the room to come to a halt just before the man, tentatively walking forward a few steps until his fabricated thighs bumped into Detective Anderson’s knees where the man had them spread slightly to gently swing his feet, the restless action immediately ceasing the moment Hank entered his space. 

“We need to take your shirt off.” The android informed clinically, LED flashing yellow as the machine brought up the procedure in the corner of his vision and reached forward to take the hem of his companion's button up between his fingers. He’d barely tugged the thing an inch upwards though when Connor’s hands flew to his own, stilling the robot’s actions as slender fingers wrapped around mechanical wrists and the man’s vitals spiked, heart rate shooting up with stress levels at its side.

“W-Wait!” Detective Anderson practically yelped, heart rate not lowering in the slightest even when Hank immediately complied, retracting his hands so quickly one might think Connor had turned into a smoldering piece of metal and burned him. “Can you just unbutton the top?” The man questioned anxiously, legs snapping together and shoulders arching as his hands came to twist into the material of his dark jeans, his knuckles turning white under the sheer force of his grip.

It definitely wouldn’t be the most conducive method, the material being an obvious hindrance that would undoubtedly prove to get in the android’s way. However, Hank certainly wasn’t about to deny the request, not when he was already being allowed at his companion’s collar bone with a pointed piece of metal. Besides... Hank didn’t want to do anything that made Connor uncomfortable. (Except, he didn't  _ want _ at all of course!)

“I was in a car accident a long time ago.” Connor explained when Hank didn’t respond immediately, having no way to know that the machine’s hesitation came from being preoccupied denying his own impossible contradictions rather than actually considering denying the request. “The scarrings nasty. You don’t want to see.” The man insisted hastily, trying his best to convince when there was no need to. However, Hank’s sensors picked up the plea to be…  _ Wrong.  _ Not a lie, per say, every word itself proving true and the sentence itself true but something was still picking up on the machine’s lie detector nevertheless. As if, perhaps, it wasn’t the real reason? 

“Whatever you’re comfortable with, Detective.” Hank relented hastily, watching carefully as Connor’s heart rate and stress levels slowly began to retract, though the robot had no explanation for either rising in the first place. The android pondered on this with little success as Connor gave a quick nod before beginning to fiddle with the top button of his shirt, dexterous, slender fingers making quick work of the job and moving down to the next with equal efficiency, though the man went no further than that. 

Warm freckles trailed down the pale column of the detective’s neck and dusted over his shoulder where he shrugged the thin shirt off a bit to expose his left clavicle bone, the smooth line of his angular shoulder blades swooping down to curve into prominent collarbones perfectly framed by the pale material. Marring the cream expanse of skin, however, was an ugly wound, the jagged cut poorly stitched so that the dark thread wove unevenly through the gaping scar that trailed from the tip of Connor’s clavicle to decorate the exposed muscles of his chest. The premonition that the stitches had begun to come undone proved to be correct as well, the home job not withstanding against the strain of the day’s near catastrophe and pulling apart to allow the wound to open once more. 

Hank’s LED spun a bothered yellow as he eyed the injury, assessing the extent of the damage and telling himself the hot feeling sparking through his wires was certainly not anger - As he had the capacity to feel no such thing. Still though, the android wouldn’t mind if the deviant they’d met in the top tower of the apartments ended up in a soundproof interrogation room with him anytime soon. “I’m going to disinfect the wound before doing anything else if that’s alright with you, Detective.” The HK800 model informed rather than continue to plot the vengeful torment of an elusive mechanical murderer, reaching for the bottle of peroxide but making no moves farther than that until he received confirmation from his companion. 

“Whatever floats your boat, Hanky Panky.” Connor agreed easily, shifting a bit so he leaned back on the palms of his hands and tipping his head back a bit to expose his collar as much as possible - Hank would really be enjoying the sight if his partner wasn’t suffering from a stab wound. Except he wouldn’t, of course! Because he was a machine - End of story.

Having the consent he sought, Hank twisted open the plastic top of the dark bottle of disinfectant and placed it aside, grasping the plush cotton ball between the tips of his fingers and placing it against the bottle’s top before turning the thing over to wet the soft cloth. The clear liquid soaked through the soft fluff, weighing it down until the android finally turned the bottle right side up again and placed it back upon the table, taking only a brief moment to screw the white plastic lid on with one hand before returning his attention to Connor.

“Please be aware, this may sting a bit, Detective.” Hank warned clinically, not wanting his companion to jerk under his fingertips at an unexpected sensation and risk worsening his wound. 

“Good thing I’m a masochist then.” Connor tossed back easily, turning slightly to gaze up at the android without moving his shoulder too much so he could shoot him a lopsided smirk, humor brightening coffee orbs in a way that made Hank glad to be the one to put it there. 

Pushing away any such impossible thoughts, Hank brushed the damp cotton ball lightly against the top edge of the wound, ensuring the injury would only endure the barest touch to the best of his ability. Nevertheless, the stuff fizzed noisily upon contact, tiny bubbles sputtering out as a soft hiss escaped the detective’s lips and the man’s hands visibly balled into fists atop the table, slender fingers drawing against sleek wood. 

The machine moved the hand not busy with the cotton ball up to press the pads of his fingertips gently into the soft skin of Connor’s forearm, not pausing to consider his actions before brushing his digits gently along the pale expanse there in a form of comfort only to instantly jolt back from the touch when he realized what he was doing. “My apologies, Detective.” Hank offered hastily, though he himself was uncertain if he were talking about the medicine alone as his digits hovered awkwardly in mid air, having no real destination or purpose to occupy themselves with if not soothing his companion.

“No, ‘s nice.” Connor replied with more than a hint of hesitation stuttering his lilting tones, leaving no room to pretend either of them had been talking about the peroxide - Unless the man really was a masochist, that was. 

Hank tried not to consider the implications of his own actions too much as he returned his gentle contact at Connor’s assurance, finding his gaze fixed far more intensely than it likely needed to be on his companion’s wound as he finished the disinfecting part of things and placed the cotton ball aside. “I’m going to pull the old thread out, Detective.” The machine warned, waiting for an affirmative nod and tightening his grip some on the human’s arm before proceeding, grabbing the glinting metal tweezers from their place of the table and beginning to undo the flimsy knot still barely holding on at the top of the wound. Keeping Connor’s vitals in the corner of his vision, Hank found himself stroking the course pad of his thumb over the soft blanket of his companion’s skin just below where his digits rested gently around the man’s arm, keeping the methodical rhythm of the action slow and soothing even as he began to pull the old string from the injury and felt Detective Anderson tense under his grip.

“I have to stitch the wound up now.” Hank informed gently, plucking the needle and thread from the table and carefully threading the dark string through the small gap in the sharp item as he spoke. “I feel the need to warn you, this part is likely to be the worst of the procedure.” The android explained, giving the wound one last scan to assure there was no sign of infection or other problems that would hinder his progress and luckily finding none.

“And here I thought you running a needle through me would feel like a long sought orgasm after hours of edge play.” Connor shot back dryly, sarcasm dripping from his words as a playful smirk tugged at his lips, the man shifting some to gaze up at the robot as he spoke so that his coffee eyes locked with the android’s - Their dark depths filled with unbridled trust despite his satirical remarks.   

(S*ftware Instability//)

“I will strive to make it as bearable as possible, Detective.” Hank assured solemnly, leaning forward and positioning the glinting point of the needle just before the damaged edge of the injury as his mechanical brain strived to conceive some way to uphold his words. “You never mentioned being in a car accident before, Detective.” The android prompted abruptly, the words falling from his lips the moment he drove the needle forward to pierce the human’s sensitive flesh, hoping the distraction of conversation would lessen Connor’s suffering to at least some extent.

“Ah!” Detective Anderson breathed shakily rather than answering right away, coffee orbs squeezing shut and body tensing under Hank’s fingertips as the android tightened his comforting grip some in the hopes of keeping Connor still as much as soothing the pained man. “I- Uh, like I said - Long time ago.” The detective groaned out after a moment though, still not opening his eyes and the android drew the thread through and began tying a holding knot as best he could. “I was, like, nineteen.” The human elaborated, finally letting his chocolate orbs fall open some as the initial shock passed and the man visually braced himself against the pain. 

“What happened?” Hank prompted softly, trying to keep his companion talking as he drug the needle to the other side of the wound and winced himself as he pushed it through, earning a sharp gasp from Connor but not much more as the man apparently became accustomed to the torment. However, it was the machine’s words, not his actions that Hank noted sent a sudden spike through Detective Anderson’s vitals, the man’s heart rate stuttering as his body tensed for a moment before slumping as if exhausted. 

“Nothing special.” Connor dismissed immediately, lilting voice dry and rough in a way Hank had never heard the man before. “Self driving cars choose who to hit when it comes down to it and we were apparently the sacrificable choice.” The man stated flatly, gaze carefully schooled to the side so that the android couldn’t read his expression as he drug the needle through flesh again, steadily working his way toward the end of the injury without much reaction from Connor, as if the human simply couldn’t gather the energy to feel pain, let alone express it. 

_ We,  _ Hank noted, preparing to ask what - Or, rather, who - his companion had meant as he drew the thread up towards the tip of the wound, threading his way up Connor's collarbone and finally coming to the end of the injury. However, the machine never got the chance to do so as is companion began speaking once more, his lilting voice soft and strained as his hands tightened into the material of his jeans once more.

“It was my own fault.” Detective Anderson confessed quietly, lilting tones shaking over the admittance. “I was somewhere I shouldn’t have been. It was late. I was stupid.” The man explained in a hushed whisper than cracked in places it shouldn’t and choked into deafening silence every few words as Hank finally fished up the last of the stitching and was able to tie a final knot in the dark thread to keep it from coming undone again. 

“Detective,” Hank began gently, keeping his mechanical voice soft and careful even if he were not designed to do so. “Whatever happened, I’m sure it wasn’t your fault.” The android assured determinedly, conviction dripping its way into his words even as his companion merely shook his head.

“You may be jammed pack with million dollar processors, Hank.” Connor began softly, never once bringing his gaze up from the floor as he spoke...

“But this time, you’re wrong.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took so long >.< But ~ To make up for it, this chapter is, like, twice as long :)


	25. And Y’all Thought I Couldn’t Make a Whole Chapter Outta Them Leaving The Damn House

“This should numb the wound some, Detective.” Hank explained mechanically, placing everything he’d been working with aside and drawing a now free hand up towards the injury but hesitating just above it to allow his companion a chance to protest before going any farther.  Receiving no signs of discomfort or denial - just a mildly interested look and a restless squirm - the android let his synthetic skin fall away to reveal machine plastic underneath, the unnaturally white surface reflecting the glaring fluorescent lights overhead to gleam in a way that could never be considered anything but fabricated, the perfect shine revealing the android to be man made in every way possible. 

Hank’s LED cycled a slow yellow as he activated the protocol he sought and a pale blue light bled through the fissures connecting the synthetic plates that covered his metal inner workings, a cold glow that shone softly yet lit up his entire fabricated limb. The android let his fingertips just brush the area around the stitched up cut, pausing there a moment as Connor let out a sharp breath at the unexpected sensation and jolted a bit, but the man untensed a moment later and the machine let the palm of his hand come to rest gently over the sore injury. 

“That’s so fucking cool.” The words spilled from Connor’s lips in nothing more than a breathy whisper, hushed and earnest yet high with keen notes of intrigue and a brush of excitement as the detective’s coffee eyes trained on the android’s hand, chilled, white plastic pressed flush again warm, human skin as Hank let his fingers rest against his companion’s chest for a few moments. 

Satisfied that the wound would likely be sufficiently numb for the time being, Hank slowly drew back his hand and finally let his synthetic skin fall back into place, mockery of humanity coming to hide away the machine underneath once more. The android took a step back, politely placing his gaze upon the table rather than on Connor’s swift and skillful fingers as they worked his top buttons back into place and adjusted his loose tie, absolutely ignoring any urges to let his eyes fix on those delicate yet deliberate movements - Not that any such urges existed, of course. Because that would be impossible. 100% Im-fucking-possible. 

“Detective,” Hank prompted once Connor was finally done being a fucking tease - Um, buttoning up his shirt, the android meant to think, that was. “You should consider eating something before we go.” The android encouraged as his companion pushed off the table top with the butt of his hands and hopped down to the floor below, the machine having noticed a Kit Kat bar left lying on the wooden surface that Connor seemed to have opened but never got so far as actually eating.

“I’d really rather not.” The detective declined immediately, gaze drifting to the untouched candy bar and face twisting into a disgusted grimace as he looked upon it, as if the chocolate dessert had molded on the spot. 

“Detective, your sugars, salts, proteins, and virtually any other nutritional statistic I can read are concerningly low.” Hank argued consistently, well aware he was not programmed to talk back to humans but pushing that fact away with the knowledge that he was assigned as Connor’s partner, and continuing on without some sort of sustenance would have negative effects on the man’s health. The android was simply taking care of his partner. It made sense. Period. 

“We’ll grab coffee at the station when we go get the case files.” Connor assured easily, waving off the robot’s concern with a casual swipe of his hand and beginning to walk towards the door before anything else could be said - But that wasn’t stopping Hank.

“Have you eaten anything today, Detective?” The android questioned with a touch of suspicion, LED cycling a slow yellow as he waited for a response. However, the machine received none, getting naught but a sudden lurch in Connor’s heart rate and visual tenseness in the man’s shoulders for his efforts. “When, exactly, was the last time you ate, Detective?” Hank persisted onwards, his voice lowered a few octaves and softened so as to not be perceived as an attack but was insistent nevertheless as facts began to collect themselves in his head.

_ Connor never did touch that disgusting pineapple cake.  _

_ Connor’s nutritional stats are consistently low. _

_ Connor didn’t want you to take off his shirt.  _

“Hank, please.” Connor began instead of answering, not turning around as he breathed the words out through a heavy sigh. “I’ve thrown up plenty for tonight, thanks and my stomach already feels like shit as it is.” The man explained exasperatedly, shoulders arched and muscles tensed as he shuffled about uncomfortably. “Don’t make me.” Detective Anderson finally finished with a touch of pleading to his lilting tones, gentle voice lowered as he turned his head to cast the android an imploring look, coffee eyes boring into the machine’s own orbs.

“Connor,” Hank began but never made it much farther than that, having little idea what to say at the moment considering the last thing he wanted to do was let his human partner continue on like this but near certain forcing Connor to eat would only result in a second round of barfing. Convincing the man to do so of his own accord would likely be the best course of action available but Hank was well aware Fowler would take control of the program again if he tried to sit around Detective Anderson’s house for any length of time when they were supposed to be investigating a run away android.

After the mission then. Even Jeffrey couldn’t take issue with that. 

(He didn’t like it.)

(He wasn't supposed to not like anything.)

( _ S*ftware Instabi-lity) _

“Hank, you good?” Connor prompted after a moment, chocolate orbs narrowing and lighting with a touch of concern despite the fact that the android was the only one with the right to be concerned at the moment. “Your LED is giving me nostalgia for the raves of my wild teenage years.” The man joked easily, obviously eager to move on from their current conversation as he leaned back on his heels and tapped his fingers restlessly against the tabletop, a quick and anxious rhythm that echoed softly with each thrum of his slender digits against the thick wooden surface.

“All systems are in order. I am functioning at full capacity.” Hank assured truthfully, running a quick self scan and finding everything to still be in perfect working order despite the odd readings he kept picking up in himself even now. “I am just... “ The android tried to explain but went silent as he pulled up blank in search of the right words, or, at least, words that made any sense. “Concerned.” The machine reluctantly settled on, the only definition he was able to find for what he was experiencing, even if it failed to correspond with everything the HK800 knew to be fact. 

“I’ll be alright, Robocop.” Connor offered flippantly but the words dripped from his lips like a practiced line in a shitty play, almost as if they were pre-programmed and they sounded as machine as Hank himself on the man’s tongue. “Let’s just grab our ponchos and get this shitstorm over with.” The detective encouraged lightly, pulling his car keys from his pocket and twirling them easily around his index finger as he strode toward the front door. 

“Will you at least let me drive, Detective?” Hank asked quickly as he finally moved to follow his companion, unsure of how much of the medication had actually been purged from the human’s systems and unwilling to allow the man behind the wheel if there was any chance he was still impaired. 

“It’s all yours, Hanky Panky.” Connor offered with an easy shrug, carefully keeping his injured shoulder lowered through the dismissive action before tossing the car keys towards the robot, the small item glimmering in the bright lights of the kitchen as it sailed through the air. 

Hank easily snatched the keys from the empty air and finally followed Connor towards the front door of the house, passing the shattered window he’d leapt through earlier on his way towards the living room where the door sat. “Sorry about your window, Detective.” The android offered regretfully, feeling something almost akin to embarrassment flicker through his wires as he eyed the demolished glass. “I was concerned for your well being and acted irrationally. Cyberlife will pay for the damage.” The machine concluded as he stepped into the dark living room and found himself casting one last look at the vibrantly colored fish swimming cheerily about its excessively decorated tank as his companion pulled open the front door and led them into the frigid night beyond. 

The night air was bitter cold, biting like a rabid dog left unleashed after months of tormentous confinement as it lashed unforgivingly through the darkness to whip harshly against Hank’s temperature sensors as he stepped outside after his companion. The falling snow had since piled up so that it buried Connor’s lawn gnomes under its heavy weight and pressed the world around them into smothered silence, nothing but smooth, white perfection left undisturbed and untainted to speak for the life hidden underneath. All was quiet in the freezing darkness of that lonely evening.

“Don’t worry about it.” Connor dismissed easily over his shoulder, shoving his hands in his pockets and pulling the front of his coat together against the unforgiving wind as he spoke. “I appreciate the sentiment.” The man tacked on cheekily, turning to cast the android a playful grin as he pulled his hands forth from his pockets to instead tug the collar of his dark trench coat up around his face, his pale cheeks already beginning to flush a soft red against the cold night air - Leaving Hank silently resentful Cyberlife hadn’t given him a way to warm things short of an actual flame.

Connor lifted his legs high against the cresting mounds of snow as he walked, leaving the man doing some sort of awkward strut that vaguely reminded Hank of a rooster trying to impress a flock of hens. The sight send a warm burst of something his sensors couldn’t identify through the android’s system until a weird, choked sounding huff of air broke past his lips into the crisp air beyond, the warmth from his cosmetic breath steaming up from his lips in the chill beyond in a billowing puff. The machine instantly clamped his jaws shut, uncertain what had just happened and confused beyond belief as Connor stopped his chicken strut to turn and cast his companion a questioning look, though his dark eyes were strangely pleased, as if Hank had just offered him a warm cup of coffee to ward off the chill of the night instead of malfunctioning into hacking up excess air. 

“Was that a laugh?” Detective Anderson questioned incredulously, a pleased grin breaking out over his own features as Hank merely gaped dumbly like the fish back in the living room they’d just left, mouth moving with no explanation presenting itself. This display only seemed to amuse Connor however, pulling a sound much nicer than Hank’s own air gag from his lips, the soft laugh ringing clear like a bell through the cold night that put the machine’s poor excuse for laughter to shame - Except, the sound Hank made obviously wasn’t laughter because… Well, it just wasn't, okay? 

Hank hurried on to the car after that, trying not to think about the odd glitch in his programming and trying even harder not to think about Connor’s much nicer sounding laugh - And certainly trying his very hardest not to think about how much he’d like to pull that sound from his human companion again. The android kept his gaze fixed on the snow below, watching his own heavy feet sink deep into the white fluff in wake of Connor’s lighter footprints crunching the blanket down into the shape of his small shoes until they finally reached the hatchback pulled sloppily into the driveway, the vehicle askew and a clear testament to Detective Anderson’s disturbed emotional state when he’d parked it.

However, Connor’s story about being hit by a automatic car that determined him and whoever else he was with to be the lesser sacrifice came back to the machine as he watched his companion pull open the passenger side door and climb inside and he couldn’t help but think the manually driven vehicle made a lot more sense now. Hank pushed those thoughts away too as best he could as he climbed into the cramped car and pulled the door closed behind him, struggling to get his bulky limbs in some sense of order in the confined space before slipping the key into the ignition and starting the thing up.

The radio began blaring some trashy song about being a superstar when the singers (Pussycat Dolls? What the hell kinda name was that?) grew up the moment the vehicle revved to life, the quick paced beat of the thing echoing off the small walls of the cramped car at such a volume that Hank wouldn’t have been surprised if thirium began to drip from his raped auidio processors. However, Connor surprisingly reached out a slender digit and pressed the seek button, leaving the radio to switch through channels without pause as he leaned back in his seat and fell back into the weathered cloth with a soft huff.

“What kinda music do you like, Hank?” Detective Anderson asked after a moment, turning in his seat some to gaze at the android as Hank began to reverse them out of the driveway and into the snow covered street beyond. 

“I’m a machine, Detective.” The HK800 model reminded stoically, double checking that his headlights were switched on and that everything else appeared to be in working order before pressing his foot gently into the gas pedal and driving them towards the end of the suburban street. “I cannot listen to music as you do.” The android elaborated professionally, switching on his indicator light and pulling onto a larger street beyond, the white smothered road void of any other traffic in the snow storm of the frigid night.

Connor simply offered a rather noncomentable ‘mhm’ in response, keeping his gaze trained on Hank as his finger hovered over the seek button in preparation to stop the scan at any given moment. Suddenly, the man jammed his digit into the small plastic button, small grin coming to tug up the corners of his lips as he flopped back in his seat to cross his arms and watched the android amusedly. “You like jazz. I shoulda known.” The detective asserted confidently, gesturing a hand towards the radio that now played a slow, saxophone heavy tune, the music’s steady, baritone makeup a stark contrast to Connor’s usual choice of cocaine induced lunacy set to a tune. 

“I believe I gave indication of no such thing, Detective.” Hank argued instantly, LED flickering a befuddled yellow as he drove them through the main road leading through the residential section and up onto the highway beyond. Though, the android had to admit, the ebbing tones of the jazz music was a definite improvement over what his unfortunate audio processors had been subject to the last time he’d entered the claustrophobia simulator Connor called a car. It was almost… Nice. 

Except, he was a machine.

“Ah, but that’s my job, Robocop. Find a person’s tells, see what makes ‘em tick.” Connor teased easily, lifting his hands up in a casual shrug as a jovial smile danced upon his lips. “You can’t hide from me! I know all your jazz-loving secrets.” The man jested lightly, dropping his voice to a faux menacing whisper on the last words of his “sinister” declaration, leaning over the console to breathe the words directly into the android’s audio processor to really sell his act. 

Hank definitely did not shudder because he was a machine and machines do not shudder. 

“I suppose you’ve caught me, Detective.” The machine conceded through a played up sigh of defeat, his lips twitching up oddly in some sort of glitch as he glanced over to watch his companion pump his fist victoriously in the air, pleased smile widening his small smirk into a genuine grin. 

_ Softwa?re Inst*bility  _ \- Hank ignored the warning wholeheartedly.

The rest of the ride was unusually quiet but somehow lacked the smothering awkwardity of the silence of their first car ride naught but a few days ago, the baritone tune of soft jazz drifting gently through the car speakers and the low thrum of the vehicle in motion the only sounds accompanying the pair in the lonesome roads. Snow continued to fall outside, spiraling towards the windshield where it landed in small flakes only to melt upon contact with the warm glass, the white blanket outside undisturbed save for their own tire tracks cutting through the markless expanse of nothing to leave black lines of asphalt in their wake. 

Streetlights buzzed bravely onwards overhead, their warm glow running across Connor’s soft features every few seconds as the man turned his head toward the window, leaned close enough to the transparent barrier separating them from the ice outside that his hot breath ghosted against the cool surface and left a gray mist there in its wake. The detective reached out an index finger and doodled a simplistic smiley face into the gray steam, mimicking the expression softly until his features suddenly froze up out of the blue, coffee eyes widening and pulse skyrocketing.

“Hank, the road!” Connor yelped sharply, jolting back in his seat and throwing out a hand to point at the highway beyond as if he perhaps were under the impression the android might mistake him to be speaking about some other road. 

The machine’s eyes flashed back to the windshield, finding them to be drifting out of line a bit and hastily swerving them back into place all while scolding himself for allowing himself to become so… distracted - Watching Connor was apparently rather unconducive to driving. However, his companion’s heart rate seemed set on remaining sky high in the corner of the android’s vision and when Hank chanced a glance over at the human he found Connor to be staring blankly at the road as if he were somewhere else entirely, breath sharp and quick and body tense yet eyes unseeing as they fixed on the snow covered asphalt beyond.

“Detective Anderson?” Hank prompted carefully as he flicked on his blinker and pulled off the exit that would lead them to the police station, making sure to actually keep his eyes on the road this time as he left the highway - Though it was rather difficult to do so when his human partner looked as if he were a war vet reliving the loss of an entire platoon. 

“Sorry.” Connor answered after a moment, slowly seeming to come back into himself, though the relaxed ease that had been present in the man mere moments ago was no longer present. “I’m okay. Just,” The man began but trailed off for a moment, looking distant again. “Remembering something.” Detective Anderson finally finished, leaning his head against the window and letting his breath puff against it in a warm mist once more, but in the rapidly evaporating steam his earlier drawing was already beginning to disappear and drip into a distorted  mockery of the smile it once was. 


	26. Just Another Day at The Office

The police station was, as one might expect, nearly empty in those late hours of the night, naught but a few unfortunate officers saddled with the graveyard shift left milling around the lonesome building to keep vigil in the snowy evening. The place seemed somehow larger than it had earlier that same morning now that so few people stood to fill its long hallways and vacant office space, the fluorescent light casting everything a hue too pale to be welcoming and every, tiny, sound echoing off the tile floors like a bomb dropping in the quiet. From what the android could immediately assess as he pushed open the wide glass door to the lonesome building, most people he recognized, such as Chris Miller, from the earlier shift  had long since left the premises, leaving a whole new slue of unfamiliar faces in their wake. 

However, Gavin was still there for whatever cursed reason, likely remaining late to finish off some assignment he’d blown off until last minute or some other, equally ridiculous cause with roots in irresponsibility - That, or the universe had a thing for making life difficult for Hank. The android was equally willing to believe either explanation at the moment. The man was half asleep at his desk, head slumped against his hand with his elbow propped up against the table to keep everything up, though he only seemed to be sagging progressively lower with each passing moment nevertheless. Officer Reeds mouth hung open in a noisy snore, the flem smothered rumble echoing throughout the nearly empty room like a bulldozer barreling through the rubble of a nursery as a long strand of saliva dripped from the corner of his lips and stretched almost all the way down to the table below.

“He looks so much more bearable in his sleep.” Connor cooed softly as they made their way inside and walked past the sleeping officer on the way to their own desk - Not that Hank was laying any claim on any desk, of course. The desk was Connors and he was, in no way a permanent fixture in the detective’s life. 

Except, Hank had failed to account for that small detail before.

He wasn’t a permanent fixture in Connor’s life. When the mission was finished the android was supposed to be reset and sent on, meaning any information regarding Detective Anderson would be erased and with it any feel- Erm... Relations data. More importantly, with the knowledge the machine now possessed on Connor and the man’s current state of mind, the human’s calculated survivability chances were far less than promising if Hank failed to intervene and the android would have no means of even knowing his assistance was necessary if his memory was wiped - Wouldn’t even remember Connor. That wasn't… He couldn’t…

Hank couldn’t be reset.

The sound of a phone camera giving a cheery click followed by a rapid series of keys tapping brought Hank out of his own musings and back into the real world before the android really had time to mull over how he should be completely incapable of such thoughts yet how absolutely certain he was that he would stand by those words. (He shouldn't even be able to be certain. He shouldn’t be able to  _ be _ anything.) “What are you doing, Detective?” Hank questioned conversationally rather than sit there and fry his processors any longer, fixing his attention on where Connor now stood practically giggling into the screen of his phone, lower lip bit between his teeth to try and smother the sound to little avail. 

Connor gestured the machine close with an urgent wave of his hand until Hank bent down to bring his ear level with the man’s mouth, the detective leaning in until they were inches apart as if he were planning to tell the robot the government's best kept secret. A hot breath of air in the form of a poorly muffled snicker hit the android’s touch receptors along his neck as his companion tried and failed miserably to regather himself and relay whatever this hilarious new development was, sending a wave of data rushing down from the point of contact out over the machine’s synthetic skin that left him feeling oddly  _ tingly,  _ for lack of a better word. 

“The company website is for sharing important information, Detective Anderson.” A new voice suddenly interrupted, the sound of a door opening slowly nearby bringing both man and machine’s attention towards the center of the room where the glass office overlooking the work area appeared to be unexpectedly occupied. “Not for humiliating Officer Reed.” Amanda Stern scolded coldly, frowning deeply as she held up a small, silver smartphone currently displaying a picture of Gavin with an impressive drool trail managing to hold on against all odds clinging bravely onto his lip and a few doodled “Z”s scribbled above his head. 

“What?” The unfortunate officer in question grumbled, starting upright at the sudden noise and now blinking blearily into the glaring fluorescent lights flooding the room all while doing a wonderful job of looking perfectly awake by snapping a pen into his hands and jotting a few notes onto a nearby sheet of paper - Or, at least he would’ve been had the pen not been upside down. 

“I apologize, Amanda.” Connor repented hastily, shoulders snapping upwards as he instantly adopted a respectful posture, back straight and hands rigid at his side. “It will be deleted immediately.” The detective assured stiffly, ducking his head so his curling hair fell into his eyes so that only Hank, still right at the man’s side, was able to see the regretful expression his soft features twisted into, lower lips drawing tight between his teeth and brows furrowing with self-aimed distaste.

“Whass gonna be deleted?” Gavin mumbled tiredly, snapping his gaze from one human to the other and finding an explanation from neither of them as he was yanked back into the land of the waking without so much as time to pack his bags. 

“See to it that it is.” Captain Stern agreed cooly, her carefully neutral expression revealing nothing as she turned to return to her office once more, an over the shoulder shaw like the one she wore the day before flowing gracefully behind her with the motion, though this one was deep crimson rather than the pale white she’d donned previously. “I’d like to see you in my office.” Amanda added just as she walked through the doorway and into the office beyond, leaving Connor to startle a bit before hastily scrambling to follow the woman.

Hank trailed in his companion’s wake, slowly following a pace behind as Connor practically sprinted the length across the empty floor to the glass office beyond and hastily skidded into the glass door without taking so much as a moment to pause and regain his footing. The android moved into the small room behind the anxious detective with notably more measure to his steps, his carefully controlled actions always a stark contrast to Connor’s sporadic, unplanned motions, though the man somehow still always managed to seem graceful and fluid in his boundless movements. The way he moved, the way he spoke, it was all so… Human. 

“I’m sorry I failed to report back in after the investigation at Stratford Tower earlier this morning.” Connor bit out the moment the door was closed, words falling from his lips in a waterfall of a rush so that they all strung together in a continuous, almost indiscernible stream as he failed to take a seat and rather opted to stand stiff shouldered and tense just before the desk where Amanda moved to take a slow seat at the opposite side, painted nails glimmering in the light as she threaded her fingers and placed her hands carefully atop her desk. “I was,” The man tried to explain but only managed to choke on his own words, gulping slightly as his eyes averted for a quick second before fixing back on the woman before him. “Shaken after the events witnessed there.” Detective Anderson finally finished, shifting his weight from foot to foot as his hands drummed rhythmically against his thigh in a quick pattern of restless anxiety. “But, I swear, it will not happen again!” The man finally finished strongly, conviction smoldering in mahogany orbs but Amanda carefully unthreaded her digits to raise a slow hand to halt him nevertheless. 

“This is not about you failing to report, Detective.” Captain Stern dismissed coldly, voice revealing nothing and face hard as stone as Connor obediently fell silent. “This is about you failing to apprehend another target.” The woman informed slowly, eyes narrowing as she eyed the man across from her distastefully, still never letting a touch of emotion show through in her controlled expression even as Connor startled and scrambled in confusion.

“I-” The man began but fell short before actually saying much of anything else. “I did everything I could, Amanda! I located-” The detective tried to defend but was cut off once more as the captain's stern glare hardened just that much more.

“The machine was terminated by cops guarding the premise as soon as shots were heard.” Amanda informed angrily, her words sharp and venomous like a snake laying in wait in a grass field, poised and ready to strike. “With it’s memory component destroyed we were able to learn nothing from it.” The woman hissed flatly, her face one of controlled displeasure as she glared at the man across from her as if everything she’d just said lay at his feet alone. 

“I’m sorry, Amanda.” Is all Connor managed after a few moments of tense quiet, voice coming out more than a bit strained as his head dipped and his shoulders arched, his entire person radiating guilt.

“This android doesn’t seem to be helping with the investigation.” Captain Stern abruptly stated coldly, letting her gaze flick disinterestedly to Hank for a moment before fixing her eyes back on Connor once more, orbs cold and distant as if she thought she was still looking upon a piece of plastic. “It may be in our better interest to send it back to Cyberlife.” Amanda suggested disinterestedly, keeping everything about her demeanor perfectly neutral to the very last. 

Hank’s LED cycled a quick yellow, his earlier silent oath not to allow himself to be reset echoing in his mechanical mind as his processors raced to find something worth saying to salvage the situation. No matter what it took, the android could not allow that catastrophe to become a reality... If he left, Connor would die. 

And Hank wouldn’t let Connor die.  

“What?” Connor balked before the android even had a chance to fabricate a response however, startling the machine as he had never once seen the detective be anything but repentful under Amanda’s stern gaze. The man’s head snapped up from where his eyes had been fixed to the floor to suddenly lock the orbs on the police captain, his expression confused but not without a notable flush of anger dusting his pale cheeks as he waited for an answer, mouth open and eyebrows furrowed in frustration. 

Amanda was evidently taken aback as well, the woman’s carefully controlled mask breaking for a moment to allow a twinge of surprise to strike across her hardened features but it was gone as quickly as it had come. “It has failed to capture a single deviant, Connor.” Captain Stern insisted coldly, quickly recovering from her moment of shock to school herself back into the same emotionless picture she always was with not the slightest twitch of a muscle to show there had ever been a slip. 

“He saved my life!” Connor argued what could almost be called angrily, disbelief evident in every syllable of the protest as if the man couldn't bring himself to believe what he was hearing. “If he’d gone after the suspect, I would be dead.” The detective pressed determinedly, his voice lowering to a convicted hiss as his hands suddenly slammed down on the desk before him and he leaned across to stare at the woman with utter confusion etched into every muscle of his face.

“And we would have a lead!” Amanda all but spat back instantly, frustration cracking her perfect disguise for a vivid moment, her scarlet lips curling into a snarl and her dark eyes flashing for a moment as her hands tightened into angry fists atop the desk. 

Connor recoiled like he’d been smacked the moment the words fell from the woman’s painted lips, his stricken expression twisting his features into a look of shock that fell away to one of hurt nearly instantaneously. The man withdrew his hands from the desk, pulling them back to himself as his shoulders arched up and his muscles visibly tensed under pale skin, collapsing in on himself like a mimosa leaf that had been prodded too hard and closed up for protection. “I,” Detective Anderson began, voice strained and quiet as his eyes fell toward the floor where they darted about as if the pale tile below would explain things to him if he asked them nicely enough. Unsurprisingly, they didn’t.

“Connor, that’s not…” Amanda began but let her explanation die on a heavy sigh as the man all but flinched at the sound of his name on her lips, expression tightening into a pained grimace as she spoke. “There is a war coming, Connor.  Hundreds will die if we don’t stop this. Millions maybe! The fall of humanity as we know it.” Captain Stern pressed insistently conviction strengthening her controlled voice as she leaned forward a bit but the detective she was trying to reach merely shuffled back a pace farther in response. 

“Of course,  _ Captain _ .” Connor eventually bit out stiffly, eyes still locked to the floor and body rigid as a statue. “I understand.” The man resolutely conceded, finally lifting his gaze back up to meet the woman’s but the usual warmth and hopeful eagerness always present there before when he looked upon the chief was absent and his eyes had become hard and detached in light of what had been revealed. 

_ Betrayal  _ Hank privately labeled the exchange. ( _ S*ftware In@bility  _ Echoed his programming.)

“Connor,” Amanda tried once more, voice soft and drawing, welcoming the person on the receiving end to give in to its warm embrace and let themselves be soothed by her gentle tones but, this time, she had no such luck. 

“I would like to view the case files for the run away android that was reported this evening, Captain Stern.” Detective Anderson asserted unwaveringly, gaze steady and unyielding even as the chief stared at him imploringly, apology etched into her face in a way that Hank’s sensor’s picked up to be false with a single glance. 

“They’ll be sent to your terminal.” Amanda finally relented with another heavy sigh, leaning back in her chair and resting one hand tiredly against her forehead. “Dismissed.” The woman reluctantly conceded with a small wave of her free hand, stubbornly not looking in Connor’s direction as the man gave a stiff nod and walked calmly out of the room, Hank on his heels.

The moment the glass door swung shut behind the pair was a whole other story, however. The moment the gate was sealed, it was as if someone had popped a balloon inside Connor and the man deflated on the spot, shoulders sagging and head drooping with a shaky sigh to betray everything he’d kept under wraps in Amanda’s office. “Well, that sure stung.” Is all the detective eventually managed to mumble out softly, raising his head back up to gaze straight ahead, blinking rapidly a few times before rolling his shoulder back in a poor mockery of an easy shrug and taking the first step down towards the office space beyond. 

“I’m sorry, Detective.” Hank replied gently, one, large hand finding its way to Connor’s uninjured shoulder before he really had a chance to think about whether or not it was a good idea, his digits squeezing gently into the soft flesh there so that the man paused his hasty retreat as the machine wanted him too, not wanting to see the human try to simply shrug off such blatant injury once again.

“ ‘S fine.” Connor tossed back immediately, though his eyes were downcast as he spoke and he made no move to shrug off the android’s hold. “We need a lead. This case is too important to worry about one guy getting a bullet put between his eyes.” The detective conceded softly, biting his lips gently and fiddling with the sleeve of his trench coat as he spoke. “I just,” The man began but let his words die on an agitated sigh that shook his shoulders and left him looking like a deflated balloon animal left on the street after a cheap circus.

“She’s wrong.” The android spoke before he could consider the implications of his own words, being programmed to always agree and never designed to  _ ever _ have an opinion of his own on anything... This wasn’t opinion though. Amanda was wrong. 

Connor gazed silently at the robot for a long moment, expression unreadable and eyes calculating as he descended the last few steps to the office space beyond, slender digits running delicately atop the sleek, metal guardrail as he moved before he suddenly came to a halt at the bottom. The man grabbed the end of the rail and swung himself so that he stood in front of Hank, blocking the android from taking the final step onto the ground below. 

The machine compliantly came to a halt, LED cycling yellow as he attempted to analyze his companion’s intent and proceeded to get absolutely nowhere. However the constantly spinning, flickering, flashing light dimmed back to a contented blue as Connor merely reached out and took the android's left hand between both of his own, slender digits gently fitting around the large palm of Hank‘s hand as he tugged it toward himself and placed it against is chest, just over his concealed wound.

“Hurts.” Detective Anderson mumbled in lieu of an explanation, fingers dancing nervously along the android’s synthetic skin until Hank tentatively let the stuff fall away to reveal sleek plastic and softly glowing fissures underneath. It didn’t take million dollar processors to know Connor wasn’t actually talking about the injury he bore along his collarbone but the HK800 decidedly didn’t point this out, letting his plastic shell become cool to the touch as he pressed it gently against the man’s chest and found himself vaguely wishing humans could interface as androids did upon contact. 

“You little prick!” A vicious growl of a voice interrupted the moment, the intrusion coming from Gavin who now stood a few paces away, face blotched red with rage and an unfortunate phone clasped with in his white knuckled grip that looked about one wrong move away from being crushed.

“Guess he saw the post.” Connor whispered sharply to Hank, flashing an over dramatic grimace and making a quiet “yeesh” under his breath as the android drew his hand back and let his synthetic skin slip into place once more. “Jesus, one bad pic and he acts like his modeling career is on the line. What a diva.” Detective Anderson joked lightly but, in Hank’s humble opinion, this really wasn’t the time to be joking; Gavin looked downright murderous.

“Detective, maybe we should leave.” The android suggested hastily, not really thinking about it before grabbing Connor by the arm and beginning to usher the man in front of him, wanting to get him past Officer Reed as quickly as possible.

“We have to get the case files.” Connor reminded quickly, pointing towards the computer bravely fighting to rise above all the other shit cluttering the man’s landfill of a desk yet making no moves to break from the android’s hold or resist his guiding motions, moving compliantly forward even as he protested.

“I can download them remotely.” Hank assured in a hiss of a whisper, all but dragging Connor forward until they were almost at Gavin, the android carefully positioning himself to be between the two humans when they crossed paths.

“Downloading classified case files?” Connor repeated easily as they walked by Gavin, completely ignoring the angry “Hey!” that followed them in their wake. “That doesn’t sound completely legal, Robocop.” The detective teased but an eager edge of mischievous excitement lifted his tones as Hank finally released his hold on the man and fell in pace just behind him. 

“I never said it was, Detective.” The android pointed out stiffly, LED flashing yellow as he was forced to admit it allowed. Hacking into a police network was, in no way, legal or something he, an emotionless machine designed to follow rule and order should be doing - But letting his human partner get jumped by a furious officer with unbridled anger issues wasn't either, so sue him. 

“I’m talking to you, asshole!” Gavin called from behind the pair, voice rising in his anger and the sound of heavy, purposeful footfalls coming to join the words; a combination that foretold of nothing good.

“I knew you had a wild side, Hanky Panky.” Connor declared in a pleased whisper, a relishing grin flashing across the man’s soft features as he diligently ignored Gavin’s ceaseless yelling and B-lined straight for the front door.

However, Officer Reed’s footsteps failed to slow, only seeming to become louder as they reached the door even when Connor pulled it open and slipped outside into the cold night air, the frigid bite flooding into the warm indoors with a striking gust of wind in just the brief moment the glass door was open. Which was a problem, because once they were outside there would be no security cameras, no “remember where we are” looks from Connor, no professional restrictions, nothing to keep Gavin from finally swinging on the detective and Hank was not exactly in the mood to stand by and watch Connor get the shit beat out of him. 

The android slowed and turned to face the oncoming officer, taking a step forward and placing his hands professionally behind his back as he raised his head and gazed steadily at the disgruntled man. “I ask that you kindly leave Detective Anderson alone, Officer Reed.” Hank asked politely, unsure of what else he’d be able to do with his programming designed to prohibit any intentional harming of a human.

“Outta the way, you fucking overrated coffee pot!” Gavin snarled angrily, shoving Hank roughly as he stormed past the android and placed a hand on the door handle without so much as pausing. 

The android himself was uncertain of what he was doing until he’d already snapped out a hand and grabbed Gavin’s free arm, twisting the limb behind the man’s back and holding it there as Officer Reed let out a sharp cry and tried to fight back against the hold to little avail. The guy attempted to jerk out of the hold but only succeeded in pulling at his captive arm until he finally fell still with an angry growl that ended in a pained hiss as Hank twisted the limb a bit farther and leaned in. “I see I must repeat myself for you, Detective Reed.” The android began slowly, keeping his voice carefully calm even as he rotated the limb in a way it never should’ve been, eliciting a yelp from the man. “Kindly leave Detective Anderson alone.” Hank enunciated each word slowly, puncturing them each with a small rotation until Gavin finally gave a fervent nod. 

“Yeah. Yeah. I won’t touch your little pet.” Gavin agreed, only to have the words die on a muffled scream as Hank turned his arm a bit more and he bit his lip to smother the mangled cry. “I’m sorry! I’ll leave Connor alone! I’ll leave Connor alone!” The officer insisted hastily, the words sharp and strained on the brink of another scream when Hank finally released his hold on the man and Gavin stumbled in his haste to put distance between himself and the android, face blotted red with pain and embarrassment and breath ragged.  “Fucking plastic prick!” The man mumbled under his breath as he lurched another step back before all but bolting back into the precinct, tripping over his own feet in his hurry.

  
_ Gavin Reed: Asshole _ Hank’s relations data informed and the android opted to only think about that oddity as he finally left the building after his companion. After all, it wasn’t  _ harming _ per say. Merely restraining. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for being patient! Still 100% I bombed the Chem test I was studying though XD


	27. Welcome to the Club

By the time Hank was pulling the car to a stop at their final destination, Connor was just hanging up his phone from a conversation the android had done his best to respectfully tune out rather than tap into like he’d been quite tempted to do. The android let his gaze fall out the window at the building they’d just rumbled to a halt in front of in a valiant attempt to seem as non-prying as possible when he’d maybe, sorta, been listening in just a little bit. (What? The person on the other end had started the conversation with “Connor Fucking Anderson if you don’t pick up this god damn phone I swear to god I will-” loud enough for the machine to hear from the driver seat, which meant the android had every right to be concerned. In the end though, the robot had analyzed the voice through and through and easily determined the harsh tones to be based in fear, not anger, so he’d left Connor to it.)

The sleek, modern building was covered head to toe in neon lights, no surprise there. A flashing, two panel, animated sign depicted a pair of lush lips biting into an apple in crimson light at the center of a wide, dark tinted window and underneath it the words “just one bite” blinked in time with the image, scrawled in a pretty font that was not only a delicate cursive but also dripping down with every alternate flash. Every window to the place was the same dark tint, revealing nothing inside save for one display style window that opened onto a tall pink pole upon which an android girl with long hair dragging to the ground currently hung upside down on, one leg hooked over the sleek cylinder of the pole with the other extended up the length of the thing as her hands danced downwards in slow, methodic movements to extend her torso until her fingertips brushed the ground. 

“That was Chris.” Connor informed abruptly, bringing Hank’s attention back inside the car as the man slipped his phone back inside a large coat pocket. “He left like 12 calls while I was, “ The man began to explain but trailed off with an awkward ‘um’ that drug out on a soft wave. “Well, before you showed up at my house.” The detective finally finished out with a definitive nod, seeming satisfied with his dodging explanation before he seemed to sober some, eyes averting and soft lower lip drawn between his teeth in a gentle bite. ( _ Guilt _ , Hank’s analyzing software categorized the body language.) 

“He heard about this morning and called to make sure I hadn’t done anything stupid.” Connor explained softly, lilting voice softly rising and falling over the words like the gentle ebb and flow of the fragile snowflakes outside being lifted and swayed by the breeze of the night as his eyes stayed carefully schooled to the window facing the road alongside them, gaze following passing cars until they sped out of sight and disappeared in the gray haze of the snowfall. 

“He’s a good friend.” Hank asserted surely, silently thankful for the man’s presence in Connor’s life but unsure he could put such a thought into words. However, thinking of Chris reminded the android of how seriously the officer in question had silently sworn him to secrecy about the reopening of the club they now idled in front of, neon glow of flashing lights pooling into the street beyond and casting even the inside of the car a deep pink hue, the same shade as the large banner reading the place's title above the wide open doorway. The unnatural light fell on Detective Anderson’s face as he turned away, ghosting gently across soft features and illuminating every hidden detail in its gentle glow. He had a freckle at the peak of his left cheek bone, another just on the underside of his jaw... 

Hank should really stop staring. 

Connor turned a moment too quick, the android having not broke off his lingering gaze as he meant to and caught in the act as he was suddenly making direct eye contact with the man, brown eyes fixing synthetic blue in place with purposeful intensity. Hank was left gaping for a second, mouth falling open to present some sort of believable excuse but finding none on his tongue as Detective Anderson tilted his head an inch to the side in wordless question. However, the man took mercy on the android after a moment and released him with a knowing smirk, the upward tick of his lips a welcome sight even when in jovial mockery as a slight dimple made an appearance at the corner of the man’s mouth.

Hank only wished the welcome expression could’ve lasted; but the moment Connor’s gaze drifted past him to the club beyond, the look fell away to straight faced blankness. The man’s eyes looked oddly distant but his expression was as flat as Amanda’s, completely closed off and unreadable. Detective Anderson reached into his pocket and flicked out his lighter, brushing his thumb gently along the sleek metal of the item and releasing a single, shaking breath before slipping it back away and reaching a hand toward the door handle.

The android darted out an arm and caught Connor by the wrist before his fingertips could even brush the dark plastic, wrapping gently around the slender limb and stilling the action without so much as stopping to think about how much none of this should matter to him. “Stay in the car, Detective.” Hank implored softly, knowing full well this was certainly not the most conducive method to getting an investigation done but finding himself unable to stand by and watch Connor go through… Whatever the fuck Connor was going through. 

Detective Anderson seemed to consider the offer for a moment, eyes flickering from the club, to Hank, then back again as his abused lower lip found its way between his teeth once more and his free hand tapped a quick rhythm against the side of the door before he finally gave a small shake of his head. “I want to come with you.” Connor decided softly, lilting voice wavering over the uncertain declaration as he tentatively rotated his captured hand until his palm faced the android’s and softly threaded his delicate fingers between Hank’s large ones, hesitating every few seconds to give the machine a chance to pull away. 

The HK800 left his hand pressed tight against the man’s though, never pulling away even when Connor interlocked their digits and closed his hand around the machine’s, instead reciprocating the motion and giving their intertwined fingers a soft squeeze of reassurance. However, this angle left Detective Anderson’s wrist on full display and Hank found his eyes drawn to the dark stain the man had adamantly kept concealed since the day he’d met him, the black ink left unveiled in the soft, pink glow of the club’s gaudy lights.

A single number: Nine. 

“Let’s get this over with.” Connor’s lilting tones drew Hank back to the moment, slowly winding his slender fingers back through the wide gaps between the android’s digits until, at the last moment, the machine abruptly threaded his fingers back through the small space between the man’s slim digits and closed his hand around Connor’s. “Um, Hank? We’re kinda holding hands, in case you hadn't noticed.” Detective Anderson pointed out questioningly, tilting his head a bit to the side in a way that sort of reminded  the android of a lost puppy. 

“I’ve detected high stress levels, increased heart rate, and poor oxygen intake, all signs of emotional distress.” Hank stated factually, LED spinning a slow yellow as he brought up the statistics in the side of his vision, though he didn't exactly need to run a scan to know they were present, having come to know Connor well enough to pick up on the man’s tell tale signs of anxiety. The way he averted his eyes, bit his lip, and fiddled more than usual was a dead giveaway. “My research of human relations details that physical contact is a preferred method of alleviating such negative emotions.” The android relayed clinically, carefully keeping his voice perfectly even despite the fact that he was holding hands with his strictly professional partner outside a sex club at the moment. 

“Well, you’re not wrong.” Connor admitted quietly tightening his grip and letting his eyes drift to their interlocked hands for a moment before flicking his gaze buck up to cast Hank a jovial smirk. “But I can’t hide out in the car clinging to your hand like a comfort blanket all night.” The man joked easily, reluctantly letting his grip loosen until their fingers fell away but a light smile still painted his lips and his gaze somehow seemed less distant, a little brighter in a way too. Hank would have gladly told Connor he could do just that if the man wanted but he supposed he’d have to settle for at least knowing he’d made his partner feel better for now.

Hank leaned back into his own seat and got a hand on the door, popping the thing open and pushing it out with a single, large hand, all while doing his very best to ignore the obnoxious groan of reluctant metal all but squealing in protest at the demand. The android stuck his head through the gap and pulled his body through with as little humiliation as possible, definitely not catching his foot on the edge of the cramped doorway and stumbling on his way out. The air outside was just as cold as he remembered it, blistering wind whipping against his temperature sensors and pinging off hazardous conditions alerts as he slammed the door shut behind him, just catching the quiet sound of Connor’s light footsteps crunching in the mounting snow as the man approached. 

“I never thought I’d be back here.” Connor whispered quietly, lilting voice subdued so that its cresting waves only rose so high and the cold wind of the night threatened to carry the soft noise away before Hank ever had a chance to hear it.

Then again, it was hard to hear anything over the muffled music blaring from inside the club, the basey tones sufficiently dampened by a thick door just visible at the far end of the hall guarded by two heavy set men but it was still loud as all hell even from out here. The rhythm was heavy, loud, and trance-like, leaving nothing to guesswork about the nature of the club before the pair even began to make their way towards the front door, stepping off the snow covered sidewalk and into the slight shelter of the open hallway beyond where the walls offered some shelter from the biting wind though not much else. 

Walls though they were, hallway sized billboard might’ve been a better term for what Hank actually found himself standing inside, every surface covered with a sprawling digital screen so that even the ground underfoot revealed itself to be a flat screen, the recognition of flashing lights overhead suggesting the ceiling was too before the android actually even glanced up to confirm the suspicion. The images the screens displayed in their crystal clear, digital perfection were provocative as one might expect, just flashing images of smooth skin and sleek curves without much context, simply meant to provoke the human psyche into supplying their own desires and details. A rare shot of painted scarlet lips or a lacey piece of fabric draped low over someone’s hips flashed by once in awhile but nothing ever gave away more than it had to, just enough to get you into the club. 

“You really don’t have to do this, Detective.” Hank offered one last time just as they began to slow at the end of the hall, coming to a halt just before the bouncers who seemed intent on ignoring their existence, never breaking rigid straight ahead stare even as the pair approached, though their eyes were, of course - because this club had to hit every cliche - guarded by a pair of dark sunglasses. It was so counterintuitive in the dark night that Hank swore he would have laughed if he’d been able.  

“Let’s just make this quick.” Connor dismissed in a whisper, reaching behind himself and pulling out his wallet before straightening up to face the two men barring their way, raising his head bravely despite the obvious fact that either one of these dudes could likely snap the lithe man like a twig with a flick of their pinky finger. “DPD.” The detective asserted shortly, lilting voice hardening as he adopted a professional attitude for a brief moment, flicking the wallet open to reveal his badge inside and holding it up at his side as both bouncers turned their heads simultaneously to glance at it.

As they did so, Hank caught the glowing circles of LEDs on both of their temples, the luminescent circles flickering yellow for a moment as they likely scanned Connor’s ID before they simultaneously spun back to blue and both bouncers turned their heads forward once more in sync to give a perfectly synchronized nod of clearance. As they did, the doors behind them slid open as if on cue, releasing the previously muffled music into the street at full blast and letting the deep base of the song thunder through Hank’s mechanical skull until it felt like the rhythm was vibrating inside his head.

Connor gave the android guards each a curt nod, slipping his wallet back inside and stepping through the doors and into the club beyond, Hank right on his heels. However, when the HK800 moved to follow his companion, the two bouncers stepped back together, coming shoulder to shoulder to silently bar the way without so much as missing a beat. The human detective turned on a heel, nearly stumbling in his haste to get back to the entrance and all but shouldering his way back past the two guards even as they parted to let him past. 

“He’s with me.” Connor asserted quickly, snapping out a hand and grabbing Hank by the arm as if to prove the point and quite nearly glaring at the large bouncers who he most certainly - being the tiny twig he was - should not be glaring at. 

“Apologies, Mr. Anderson.” The two androids began in sync, still staring straight ahead as their mouths moved as one to release a booming voice that would intimidate even the most renowned of wrestlers, yet their tone was oddly metallic as if their voice boxes were not quite as well tuned as Hank’s model’s. “We may not allow any unauthorized android access to the club.” The guards railed off simultaneously, their metallic voices grinding over the declaration like an ancient saw grinder being put to work after years of disuse. 

“He’s…” Connor began sharply then trailed off, making a low thoughtful sound before snapping his fingers in a display that was, in no way, subtle. “He’s my bodyguard.” The man asserted confidently, his lilting voice rising and falling over the excuse smoothly so that even Hank had trouble picking it up as a falsehood. 

The bouncers both looked at Hank for a moment, LEDs cycling a slow yellow as they likely ran a scan that would reveal Detective Anderson’s mistruth. “HK800 model identified. Serial number, 096 185 553 - 2. Assignment, deviancy elimination.” The android’s relayed simultaneously, never once flinching or deviating from the same scripted response. “Access unauthorized.” The bouncers finished off together, moving in sync to stand shoulder to shoulder before the doorway once more.

Hank felt his lips twitch into a mechanical frown as his LED flickered a bothered yellow, the machine brainstorming the best possible way to pass this obstruction and coming up blank. His best bet was to contact Jeffrey and have Cyberlife get in touch with the owner of the club but it would take awhile and their chances of locating the runaway android were only lessening with each passing moment. 

“Tell Elijah I want in.” Connor abruptly demanded, voice dry and flat as if he were choking on a mouthful of sand as he spoke but his tone commanding and confident nevertheless. 

Hank tried to catch his companion’s eye as the androids went silent, likely sending the message somewhere inside the building but Connor wouldn’t meet his gaze, the man turned away so that his features were unreadable. The HK800 considered reaching out to offer more stress relieving physical contact but, unexpectedly, the voices of the bouncer’s interrupted before he could do any such thing.

“Mr. Kamski welcomes you both and Eden Club wishes you a pleasant experience.” The androids spoke in sync, metallic voices fritzing out on the last word as if there were a glitch in their identical code at that particular phrase.

Well, wasn’t Hank just fucking confused as all hell. 


	28. Kamski

Everything inside the club was cast in a deep red hue, glowing crimson bars lined the edges of the high roof and gyrating dance lights sat along the floor, tinged the same rich color and blinking out the deep cadence of the rhythmic song still blaring loudly from huge speakers laying in the shadows at each corner of the wide room. The floor itself was even toned a deep rose, made of some sheer, white material that was backlit by diluted ruby lights underneath it so that even the ground underfoot pulsed in time with the music.  The color continued on to suede platforms that rose up from the underlit ground, some offering a long pole in the center, others displaying popular ”kits”, but all surrounded by tall glass walls that rose up to the ceiling with only a single panel in the center of them to marr their crystal clear surface, likely for payment transactions.

Most notable certainly, however, was the fact that each and every display held an android, a violet LED fit snugly into the the smooth skin at the temple of each and every person leaving no question to that. A female style WR400 with short orange hair framing her perfectly sculpted features was captive in the tube nearest the entrance, hands bound high above her head in advertisement of some complex swing system you could include in your session for only twenty dollars more. What a deal. Nearby a HR400 styled after a well built Asian male was in no better condition, mouth stretched wide around what looked more like a baseball without the stitching than a gag of any sort, but Hank supposed he could assume pleasure model androids such as these had been designed to be able to open their mouths as wide as they needed to.

It as all... oddly disconcerting. Though, Hank of course could feel no such bothersome itch at the back of his mind as he took in the scene around him because he, like all these androids on display, was a machine. The robot hadn’t much time to muse on this, however, as he was all but drug by Connor past a tube containing a slim built male model droid who locked eyes with the HK800 and shot the police model a flirty smile as he spun himself around a sleek pole by a leg before bending backwards in an elaborate flourish that extended his flat stomach in an elegant stretch and arched slender hip bones high. 

“Hey, Hank.” The detective prompted thoughtfully as the pair slowly made their way farther into the club, letting his eyes flick around the scene but never seeming to let them rest on any one thing for too long. “Can your LED do that?” The man questioned curiously, drawing a small circle into his own temple with the tip of his index finger as he spoke.

“I do not believe so, Detective.” Hank replied certainly, sparing a short glance at the nearest android’s temple and taking in the small, glowing, pink circle fit there into the dark skin, the luminescent sheen unlike anything he’d ever encountered before in his own experience. “These androids are specifically designed for pleasure so my design is inconsistent with theirs on many levels.” The machine elaborated professionally, well, as professionally as anyone discussing the differences between themselves and an electronic sex doll could anyway. “For example, while I am able to analyze evidence orally and they are not, they are able to assess a human’s sexual preferences through visual analyses alone, while I cannot.” The android offered helpfully, earning a small chuckle from his companion.

“Thank god for that.” Connor snickered lightly, making an elaborate display of pretending to wipe sweat from his brow before stuffing his hands in his pockets. “So…” The man began slowly, stretching the syllable out over his tongue and letting it hang in the air between them. “Does that mean you’re, um.” The detective tried to ask but let his words hang once more as if he somehow expected Hank to read his mind when the android had obviously just stated he could do no such thing. “Unequipped?” Connor finally got out shortly, snapping his jaws shut as soon as the word had passed his lips and carefully becoming exceptionally interested with the ceiling, though even with his head turned the HK800 could still easily see the flaming blush painting the man’s cheeks.

If only he knew why.

“I am well equipped for many situations, Detective.” Hank stated simply, looking curiously at his companion. “I’m afraid you're going to have to be more specific.” The android prompted professionally, patiently waiting for Connor to stop choking on air as he currently was and actually answer him.

“Hank, can you run a Google search?” Detective Anderson suddenly questioned instead of actually responding to the inquiry, still carefully looking anywhere but at the robot as his hand emerged from his pocket, silver lighter clasped lightly between his middle and index finger. 

“Of course, Detective.” The police prototype attested calmly, letting his LED cycle yellow as he brought up a link to the internet through a wireless connection buried deep within his processing components. “What would you like to know?” The android questioned, pulling the line of dialog straight from his code as internet access and quick information searches were one of the core functions of any modern droid. 

“How to ask my hot android crush if he has a dick.” Connor quipped lightly, casually spinning his lighter over his middle and index finger as he shot the machine a wry smirk, chocolate eyes lighting with a mischievous gleam and glittering with amusement as Hank was once again thrown from his basic protocal, nearly stumbling in his momentary surprise.

“You could just ask him, Detective.” The android suggested gruffly after a moment, straightening his tie in an attempt to recompose himself and casting the man at his side a purposeful look, letting his lips curl up into what could almost be called a smile. 

Connor’s blush darkened, light pink deepening to rose red as it brushed his pale skin, heart rate ticking up in the corner of Hank’s vision and betraying any sense of casualness the man tried to present. “Don’t worry, Hanky Panky.” The man joked lightly, though his voice was a touch strained. “Even if you’re a Ken Doll, I promise I will find some way to fuck you.” The detective teased with a flirty wink, seeming pleased with himself but Hank would not be so easily thrown this time.

“You cannot begin to fathom my relief, Detective.” The android sighed, barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes as his companion's abominable excuse for flirting. “But if it interests you to know,” Hank began slowly, lowering his voice and leaning in to put his lips near the shorter man’s ear, earning a soft noise of surprise from his companion. “I am  _ well equipped. _ ” The android promised in a hot whisper, letting his artificial breath carrying the excess heat from his internal components ghost across the pale skin of Connors neck, drawing goosebumps in his wake and eliciting a shuddering gasp from the man’s parted lips that went straight to said equipment.

“Oh.” Is all Detective Anderson eventually managed in response, cheeks flushed and lilting voice carrying a slight breathless shake that definitely would have made Hank want to swallow it from his mouth had he the capacity to want -  _ S*ftware Inst*bility  _ argued his system hardware.

The moment was cut short, however as a WR400 wearing all of about two strands of lace fabric suddenly strutted up to them, sashaying her hips so that the one small piece of cloth left to her name swayed dangerously with the movement and coming to a halt just in front of the human. “Welcome to Eden Club.” The newcomer all but purred, her low voice flowing and melodic in a way obviously designed to ensnare customers as a hand came up to trail over Connor’s shoulder, long fingers brushing gently against the rough fabric of the man’s trench coat and winding with purposeful slowness down his arm. “How can I service you?” The android inquired seductively, leaning in to ask the question in a soft breath that danced through scarlet painted lips like it was a secret. 

Something hot and impulsive shot through Hank’s wires, burning through his cables and sparking over his ports and processors until it felt like someone had poured gasoline straight into his thirium pump and flicked a match in after it.  _ Je@l*?s//Y   _ The machine’s analytical software read but the input message made little sense to Hank.

“DPD.” Connor asserted flatly, taking a step back so that he was out of range of the WR400’s snaking fingers and - for some completely unrelated reason - Hank suddenly felt a lot better. “We’re here to ask Elijah Kamski a few questions.” The man informed, flipping out his wallet and flashing his badge once more, patiently waiting for the android's LED to cycle yellow and return to pink once more before pocketing the thing.

“Mr. Kamski will see you in the back office.” The android informed after a moment, LED flashing yellow once more presumably as the message was received before she extended her arm to gesture towards a rather noncommentable looking door at the far side of the room, the thing covered over with velvet but turning out to be made of steel upon a quick preliminary scan. Hank never would’ve guessed there was anything particularly significant about it if naught for the second pair of twin android bouncers standing before it.

“The-” Connor began unsteadily but seemed to choke on thin air, body visibly tensing up as he eyed the door as if it had threatened to shove a live barracuda up his ass. “The back office?” The man repeated uncertainly as if this were something bad, though Hank could see nothing wrong with the arrangement and himself thought a separate room would be a better place to meet away from all the music and obnoxious lights. 

“Yes, sir. I can guide you there if that would please you.” The android replied fluidly, batting long, glitter dusted lashes in invitation and already taking a step forward as if to take the detective’s arm. However, she pulled back as Hank shot her a sharp glare before he could stop himself, catching the HK800’s eye and stepping away with an oddly knowing look. Hank was just gonna not think about that. Good plan.

“No, thank you.” Detective Anderson declined stiffly, squaring his shoulders and stepping away from the conversation with a polite nod, Hank swiftly following suit and falling in pace beside his companion. 

“You seem uncomfortable, Detective.” Hank commented as the pair left the android greeter in their wake and made their way toward the door, carefully watching the man out of the corner of his eye as they went.

“It’s an uncomfortable place, Hank.” Connor dodged in a flat whisper, carefully watching the ground beneath them as a corresponding light brightly glowed under his feet with every step, motion activated glow reflecting off his down turned face to illuminate his features and vicariously reveal the shadows there as well, the man’s eyes darkened from this angle and the stress lines creasing his brow clearly visible. 

Hank never had time to elaborate on this observation though as they came to halt just in front of the doors and were greeted with nearly immediate nods from the guards, apparently having been expected. The two bouncers turned in sync, each pressing a hand against a velvet lined door and pushing in until the doorway stood wide, like a grand entrance way to some elaborate palace rather than the hideout of some sleazy sex club owner. 

Connor closed his eyes for a moment and drew in a final deep breath - And when he opened his orbs again his mask was in place, soft features carefully controlled into a perfect picture of emotionless stone. A blank slate with no hint of fear or discomfort cracking through the pristine visage to reveal what Hank’s highly tuned sensors could read -  _ Stress levels: Dangerous. Heart rate: Dangerous. Oxygen intake: Dangerous... Conclusions: Terror. _

The man stepped forward, Hank crossing over the threshold at his side as the sound of heavy doors slowly groaning closed behind them met the machine’s audio processors. The heavy thump of them finally falling into place seemed to thunder through the small room on the other side and Detective Anderson flinched as if it were the ring of an anvil falling down on the final nail of his coffin. 

The room the pair found themselves in was well sized and equally well decorated, a leather couch lined up on one side of the wall and a matching loveseat sat opposite it. A large glass coffee table took up the floor space before the rich furniture and atop it sat a small potted plant flourishing despite the presence of no natural light. The only disconcerting thing about the back office that Hank could see was the presence of yet another stripper pole set atop a small platform in the far corner of the open space, this one left exposed to the world outside and currently housing a blonde android unlike any of the previous models the HK800 recalled passing on their way in. 

Either way, there was nothing about the room that screamed “Danger” to Hank, despite the fact that Connor looked as if he’d just walked in to lay eyes on his own tombstone at the center of some lonely graveyard visited by none.

At the far end of the room there sat a sleek, black work desk and behind that stood the man himself. Elijah Kamski, dressed in little more than a velvet lounge robe despite the fact that he called the place an office and smiling at his visitors in welcome. The man’s hair was long on the top but pulled back into a tight bun so that not a single strand escaped the merciless sweep while the edges were shorn short and buzzed almost down to the skin. The hairstyle revealed a black cuff over the arch of his left ear and left razor sharp features undisturbed, narrow nose and high cheekbones speaking of dignity but giving the man’s face a cunning look about it all the same. His smile never reached his eyes, cold, gray orbs with just a hint of blue, like ice frosting over a gravestone in the dark mist. 

“DPD.” Connor asserted calmly, voice amazingly controlled as he pulled out his wallet for the third time that night and flashed his badge. “We’d like to ask you a few questions.” The man elaborated flatly, voice detached and clinical in a way that was entirely not Connor, as if the man weren't even really there and had simply left his body behind to go through all the routine motions alone.

“Connor,  _ darling _ .” Kamski greeted in a slow draw, sinister smile curling a touch higher as though the man were pleased to see the detective, yet the endearment dripped from his lips like a threat and Hank swore he caught his companion give a barely visible shudder at the term. “Don’t be such a stranger.” Elijah insisted in a low purr, reaching for a bottle of wine left sitting upon his desk and tipping it slowly to pour the pale liquid into a tall glass where it bubbled merrily and sparkled in the bright light of the office. 

“We’re just here to ask you some questions.” Connor restated unwaveringly, body visibly tense yet lilting voice kept ever measured as he slipped his wallet back away and squared his shoulders.

“Can I interest you in a drink?” The club owner offered nevertheless, voice smooth and slipping like velvet over the tactile words. “Between friends.” The man added silkily, cunning smirk pulling at his lips like he’d just told the funniest joke in the world. If he had, Hank didn’t get it.

Connor, on the other hand, apparently did, though he didn’t seem to find it quite so funny - His stress levels slowly ticking up in the corner of the android’s vision the moment the words left the club owner’s lips. 

_ Elijah Kamski: Threat?  _ Hank’s relations protocol attested in response to Connor’s reaction but the conversation continued on before the android had a chance to wonder why his systems prioritized the human’s enemy as his own.

“I-” Detective Anderson began unsteadily before pausing to swallow thickly, rolling his shoulders back and lifting his head to meet the club owner's gaze. “I don’t drink.” The detective finished steadily, not so much as blinking as he eyed the glass he’d been offered, staring into the pale liquid as if it whispered the darkest secrets of the world to him through its tiny bubbles and had told him he was next.

“Shame.” Kamski dismissed simply, plucking the glass up between two fingers and twirling it between the digits before promptly extending his arm out over the desk and turning the thing upside down, spilling the drink to the ground without so much as blinking. A stupid demonstration if you asked Hank, the guy was just staining his own floor.  

“I’ve missed you, Connor.” Elijah began slowly, stepping out from around his desk and taking a long stride forward, the action directly correlating with a sudden spike in Detective Anderson’s stress levels. “But I can’t imagine why you’ve come to see me.” The man continued fluidly, voice as smooth as it was deadly as he steadily came forward, each step bringing Connor a new wave of anxiety and with it blaring warning signs flashing angrily in the corner of Hank’s vision. 

“As you can see, I,” Kamski continued, coming to a halt just in front of the pair and pausing to gesture toward the blonde android still continuing her routine as if nothing was out of the ordinary. “Only deal in androids now.” The club owner finished dismissively, giving a casual shrug as if this was the end of any debate and smiling that same deadly smirk he wore every time he glanced the detective's way. It was as if his lips dripped poison and his eyes turned to ice, smiling as though they were playing some game only he knew about and he was holding all the cards. 

“Could it be…” Elijah began slowly, interest glinting coldly in his icy orbs as he reached a hand toward the detective, long digits extending towards the man’s face as if to brush his curling hair aside. “A personal visit?” Kamski purred, voice dipping to a husky whisper as he crooked his finger and moved to drag it along the pale skin of detective's cheek.

The moment Elijah got near though, every muscle in Connor’s lithe frame tensed up and his breath audibly caught in his throat, choking out any sort of response he might’ve had. The man’s doe eyes glazed over the moment Kamski made a move toward him, going unfocused and distant as his body made no moves to retreat, completely locked in place in his moment of panic. It was as if the human had just shut down on the spot. 

_ Elijah Kamski: Threat _

→  _ Secondary objective: Keep Kamski away from Connor _

Hank snapped out a hand and caught the club owner by the wrist before his fingers could actually make contact with the detective, stilling the advance with an iron grip that would undoubtedly leave an unsightly bruise later. The machine found himself practically glaring at the man before him who merely looked on with mild surprise and perhaps a touch of interest, compliantly letting his hand go limp in the android’s steely grip until the HK800 released his hold and the club owner drew the limb back to himself, never once breaking his intrigued gaze from the machine. 

“We’re here to ask you some questions about reports of an android going missing earlier this evening.” Connor finally got out, taking a hasty step backwards the moment he came back to himself and crossing his arms in front of his body, eyeing Kamski suspiciously as he went.

“Oh, yes.” Elijah commented with an understanding nod, looking thoughtful for a moment before blowing it off with a dismissive shrug. “Sorry to disappoint but I don’t know anything about that.” Kamski informed flippantly, bringing up a hand to inspect a slight chip in the sleek black polish coating his nails before dropping it disinterestedly back to his side. 

“You don’t know anything? At all?” Connor asked blankly, regaining his faux composer as best he could and now eyeing the man irritatedly from a few paces back, arms still crossed defensively over his front but fiery anger now sparking in his eyes and visibly burning through his body. 

Hank would like to think Connor’s newfound bravery was partially thanks to the now obvious fact that the android wouldn’t let anything happen to him.

If Hank would like things that was. 

(Hank couldn’t dislike things ethier…)

(But he _did not_ like Elijah Kamski.)

“It’s poor business practice to give away free merchandise.” Kamski argued easily, voice somehow sounding almost bored. “It showed no signs of deviancy prior to its escape and had no resistance to the hourly memory wipes all my android’s are subject to.” The man elaborated openly, gesturing with his arms in small motions as he spoke but never seeming all too concerned with the matter, his expression disinterested and his motions flippant.

“Great.” Connor huffed dryly, his face clearly expressing that it was in fact anything but. “Thanks for all your help.” The man quipped shortly, already beginning to move back towards the door as if he couldn’t stand to be in the place a moment longer than he had to but didn’t make it very far before Kamski was speaking again.

“There is something.” The club owner began slowly, moving back towards his desk and stopping just behind it to press a single hand against the sleek surface for a minute until a red screen appeared in the center of the metal. “I call it The Apple.” Kamski informed proudly, snickering slightly at some inside joke only he was in on. “It stands for All Patron’s Preferences Learned Encode.” The man went on, sounding pleased with himself and gesturing fluidly as if he were teaching a lecture class rather than assisting with a criminal investigation. “To put it simply, the memory of every android is uploaded to this database before being reset, to better predict and fulfill our loyal patron’s desires.“ Elijah elaborated easily, as if this wasn’t a huge invasion of privacy that he should be keeping under lock and key.

“If our suspect was deviant maybe she knew something about the deviant leader.” Connor surmised eagerly, turning to speak to Hank alone as a touch of excitement lit within his eyes. “Maybe even his location! She’d have to know where to run if she escaped.” The detective realized eagerly, seeming thrilled to finally have a lead after chasing nothing for so long and Hank couldn’t help but feel the urge to smile back.

“And I’ll allow you total access to it,” Kamski agreed in a slow drawl, sinister smirk pulling his lips up at the corners as he suddenly waved a hand toward the pole in the corner of the room. “If you do just this one thing for me.” The man informed coolly, words dripping with mal intent and eyes tundra cold as his smile widened a fraction. 

The android that had been occupying the pole hopped down off the platform at the man’s call, long blonde her flowing after her as her red platform heels hit the floor and she came towards the group. The machine was an RT600 upon a quick scan, not a pleasure model by default but one of Cyberlife’s base models and easily adaptable to fit most fields. She wore a tight, leather corset decorated with pretty red bows tied at the hips and up the back of the cold material, a matching red mini skirt riding high on her hips to reveal a lacy garter belt clasped with a small metal heart. 

“Now, I find myself quite intrigued with the subject of deviancy.” Elijah explained easily, placing a hand against the android’s arm as she came to a halt by his side. “Do machines have the capacity to feel as we do? To experience empathy? Pain? Love?” The man wondered allowed, gazing thoughtfully at the android he’d called over who failed to give any indication she was aware of anything going on around her, simply staring straight ahead awaiting orders. 

“If androids decide they’re alive, that would be quite the detriment to my business.” Kamski commented regretfully, still not seeming too bothered by this yet sounding genuinely curious all the same. “So, to put it simply, I want to perform an experiment. To see if machine is as man is.” The man explained slowly, reaching into the desk as he did so and pulling out something metallic before walking back to the front of the group, the RT600 on his heels. “Chloe, knees.” Elijah commanded distractedly, not even bothering to spare a glance at the android as she obediently fell to the floor, knees pressing into the hard ground underfoot without so much as flinching. Instead he kept his gaze locked with Hank’s and extended a hand out to reveal what he’d pulled from the desk, a small handgun clasped loosely within his fingers by the barrel with the handle held towards the HK800.

“Shoot this android and the information is yours.” 


	29. Bad Decisions

Kamski pushed the gun into Hank’s hand and the machine felt his fingers curl around the cold metal trigger on instinct, taking the weapon from the man who stepped back with an all too pleased smirk resting on his lips, cold eyes glinting with intrigue as his hands clasped neatly in front of himself. A perfect picture of a detached observer.

“This is sick.” Connor spat acidly, disgust dripping from every word as a resentful snear formed on his face and his sparking gaze stayed locked on the kneeling android. “Let’s get outta here, Hank.” The man prompted shortly, already turning on a heel to escape the scene but his android partner made no moves to follow. 

Instead, the HK800 found himself slowly aiming the weapon at the kneeling RT600 without so much as uttering a word, cold metal steady in his hands with naught so much as a tremor to betray anything but pure, cold mercilessness. It was as though the prototype were on autopilot, metal muscles going through the motions like a well practiced routine. This mission demanded he pull the trigger - And he was designed to accomplish his mission. There was no choice to be made here.

The android girl - Chloe, Elijah had called her - gave no signs of distress even as the gun turned toward her, LED a contented pink that spun languidly at her temple as ocean blue orbs gazed blankly at the muzzle of the weapon. Complete machine obedience kept the RT600 in place, no hint of fear visible in her delicately sculpted features and not the slightest twitch betraying itself to name her anything but a lifeless piece of plastic obeying orders... Just as Hank was. 

“Hank.” Connor drawled slowly, voice lowering to an almost tentative whisper as he seemed to realize the robot wasn’t following and halted his premature retreat, looking back at the scene with a worried frown beginning to form on his soft features. “Hank, let’s go.” The detective tried to convince, lilting voice wavering as he took a few careful steps back toward the robot and hesitantly reached out a hand, delicate fingers just brushing the course material of Hank’s Cyberlife issued jacket uncertainty. 

Hank couldn’t bring himself to respond. Black metal gleamed maliciously in his unwavering hands as he pointed it toward the pleasure bot, training it steadily just between her eyes. There was no chance of missing. There would be no failing the mission this time.

“Hank, this is wrong.” Connor persisted urgently, giving the android’s sleeve a small tug in an unspoken encouragement to walk away. His gently cresting and falling tones fell to  a pressing whisper yet maintained a sharp edge of conviction no one could deny, though that didn’t mean his soft voice didn’t betray a hint of fear hiding behind his strong willed opposition. 

Hank’s LED spun, flickered, pulsed a riled yellow, the constant frenzy of light betraying a conflict that shouldn’t even be present. His mission dictated he shoot the android. (Connor didn’t want him too.) He couldn’t fail his mission. (Connor would be horrified.) He was a machine designed to accomplish a task. (He couldn’t do it.) He had to. 

“You say you are simply a machine following orders,” Kamski commented interestedly, pressing his fingertips together in front of himself as he began to stalk forward a pace. “Yet when given a task, you hesitate.” The club owner observed aloud, merciless smile ever in place as he kept walking and moved behind the pair, stalking around them like a hyena circling the rotting corpse of its next unfortunate meal. 

“Hank.” Connor tried once more, presenting no actual argument this time as his voice keened up a touch, picking up a desperate edge as he left the unspoken plea to hang silent in the air between them. 

“What are you?” Kamski persisted forcefully, leaning  in from behind to hiss the question in Hank’s audio processor, voice a poisonous whisper that seeped through the machine’s analytical equipment and demanded he ask himself that same question. “A living creature with empathy and the capacity to feel remorse?” The club owner drawled slowly, the tips of his long fingers running poisonously over the android’s shoulder as he spoke, a barely detectable brush of skin that Hank surely would’ve missed had he not been designed specifically to avoid surprise attack and equipped with highly sensitized touch receptors on every part of his mechanical body.

“Or just a machine?” Elijah demanded coldly, drawing his digits out along the HK800’s arm until he let them fall away at the weapon, his gaze following the android’s to the kneeling RT600 who was yet to make a move, still sitting as still as a statue with a blank expression painted across her face. 

Hank drew in an unnecessary breath, steadying himself with the silent declaration that the thing before him was merely a machine, as was he. He was designed to accomplish his mission, nothing more. With this in mind, the prototype pressed a single digit around the hammer of the gun and pulled it back, feeling the cold press of harsh metal against his sensory receptors as he cocked the weapon and resteadied his grip. The thing felt heavy in his hands, a dragging ball and chain that urged him to lower his arm and let it’s impossible weight fall from his burdened fingertips to the ground below but he knew he could do no such thing. 

“Hank,” Connor pleaded softly, lilting voice strained with keen notes of dismay as his slender fingers released their grip on the android’s jacket, shaking slightly as he withdrew them to leave his hands hovering just above the HK800’s sleeve. “Don’t.” The man begged quietly, staring at the pleasure droid with saucer sized eyes, fear beginning to spark in his concerned gaze as she turned her head an inch in response to the new pair of eyes. Attentiveness protocol - Standard in all pleasure droids. 

Chloe turned her gaze back to Hank when Connor offered no order, sky orbs framed by unnaturally long lashes that fluttered in a display of appeal every few moments. Her lips were painted a light, carnation pink and were poised so that they set slightly parted, as if she were always on the edge of saying something but never got the courage to speak. Her LED was… Red.

Hank’s hands tightened on the weapon at the discovery of the new development, sensing his window closing by the second as time ticked by. The small, circular light at the RT600’s temple flared crimson, like an alert sign glaring on the side of her head and her eyes widened a fraction. Chloe’s parted lips finally spilled forth the beginnings of a sound, the breathless noise a just a sharp exhale chasing the ideal of words as her wide eyes sparked with fear that soon kindled into a blaze. 

Hank wanted to tell Connor to look away.

(But he didn’t have time.)

The sharp sound of the handgun going off exploded in the small room, echoing off the thick walls of the closed in area like someone had set a firework off in Hank’s head, the noise thundering about his skull and ringing through his audio processors long after the gun stopped smoking. Chloe’s head snapped back with the force of the impact, terror stricken expression locking in place forever as her features went stiff in an almost instantaneous shut down. For a short moment her body stayed upright, suspended by the sheer force of gravity alone but then her frame swayed slightly and moments later fell to the ground, rigid with the stillness of a deactivated android. 

Connor let out an audible gag, his hand flying up to cover his mouth, and the man all but bolted, leaving Hank alone with the gun still smoking in his hands. 

“Well then, that certainly was insightful.” Elijah commented interestedly, looking thoughtfully at the body of the slaughtered android before turning his attention back to the shooter. “Feel free to access the footage if you’re so inclined.” The club owner offered easily, looking entirely unfazed in light of the whole ordeal and watching the machine with a calculating glint chilling already frigid eyes.

Hank nodded slowly, extending the hand holding the gun out to offer the weapon back to Kamski and letting his fingers go lax when it was pulled from his grip though he didn’t so much as glance at the man himself. Instead, the android did what he set out to do and walked rigidly toward the desk, his movements stiff and mechanical as he pulled to a halt before the screen Elijah had brought up and placed a hand against it. After a brief moment to recollect everything, the HK800 refocused himself and pulled back his synthetic skin, pressing sleek plastic against the luminescent screen to make a connection and letting his eyes fall closed to view the footage. 

Images flooded Hank’s database in a wave, clips and pictures from years back to as recent as hours ago crashing over him like a tsunami, all flashing by before he had a good chance to look at any of them. A girl with long hair promised to free an android she’d fallen in love with. (A few clips later revealed she hadn’t.) A man with a whip in hand. (Spoiler alert: It wasn’t for the android.) A boy who’d drank too much atop a table screaming out the lyrics to some Miley Cyrus song at the top of his lungs. (He fell a few minutes later.)

However, as the HK800’s systems became accustomed to the sudden influx of information, the clips began to slow to a more reasonable pace as his hardware finally began to process the data rather than just try and intake it all. The first video Hank actually got to watch was dated 01-1-2025, 12:07 in the lower right hand corner, the footage slightly buzzy as if the machine recording wasn’t exactly the most advanced model and was constantly moving as if the android refused to sit still, a slow bop of sorts to their head that might’ve implied a poor program attempting to imitate the act of dancing. 

The club apparently didn’t look quite the same all those years ago, a surprising absence of tubes containing pay-per minute androids the first notable feature of the place and far less androids in general than before being the second. Rather than fancy BDSM kits and deals on the best price for the most hours being posted on the walls, there was drinks being advertised in flashing lights and upcoming events featuring star DJs coming soon. The red dance lights lining the edge of the room flashed a much quicker cadence than they did nowadays and were now the only light existing in the place aside from the pressure activated dance floor that hadn’t changed that much, save for the fact that there were now people actually dancing on it. S3rl’s Bass Slut pounded through the speakers at top volume, drowning out most else in the crowded room, bodies pressing against bodies in the dark of the club. 

Not a sex club - But a dance club. 

Nearby where the android whose eyes Hank was borrowing stood, a boy leaned against a counter, elbows propped on the sleek wooden surface for stability as his head dipped slightly likely under the weight of alcohol and exhaustion alike, the action making two silver stars reading “Happy” and “New Years” positioned atop his head by a shiny headband droop. His face was guarded as curling hair fell in front of his eyes, drug down by sweat so that the brown locks hung damp and heavy over their features and concealed the boy’s identity. 

The person wore a high rising crop top that left his slender midriff on full display, lightly toned stomach pressed against the counter and the pale expanse of his back displayed in a smooth curve as he leaned over to catch his breath, slightly heavy gasps clearly visible where the boy’s exposed stomach rose and fell in an unsteady rhythm. Slender hip bones remained on display as well, a pair of tight fit skinny jeans positioned low on the person's waist so brushed lines of sleek muscle could be traced clearly from his prominent hips down until they finally dipped under the course material of the tight jeans. 

Resting against the boy’s jutting hip bones, two long glow in the dark bands crossed over his waist, casting his slender form in a light green glow that shone off pale skin and highlighted the slim lines of his sloping curves. Similar, smaller bands circled about his wrists, at least ten of the luminescent things on each arm, all of different colors and three longer ones were slung around his neck, pulled taut to mimic a choker as they glowed off his exposed collar bones and cast deep shadows in the crook of his neck.

The boy drug in a last heavy breath and pushed himself up from his elbows onto his hands, pressing his palms into the stained ivory before lifting one hand up to comb his damp hair back out of his eyes. The action revealed large, coffee orbs, doe like and oh, so very familiar. Soft cheeks were flushed with a tipsy blush and smeared with a streak of luminescent green paint, pink glitter decorating delicate features and catching in the boy’s long eyelashes… Connor. About 19 by the looks of it and at Elijah Kamski's dance club. In a crop top. 

Fuck. 

“I thought I told you I’d be right back from the bar.” A vaguely familiar tone interrupted Hank’s realing thoughts, cunning in the way it ran smoothly over the words like velvet slipping over skin and carrying a purr to it. A man with dark hair tied back in a loose bun and a black cuff over his left ear came into sight, placing two drinks upon the counter before slinking hands over the teenager’s hips and snaking them around toward the front, leaning in to press himself heavily against the boy’s backside, ice blue eyes glinting eagerly as he leaned in to whisper the words against the teen’s neck. 

“And I thought I told you I wasn’t interested.” Connor countered easily, familiar lilting voice a touch lighter with youth but still as smooth and lyrical as it was in the present day. The boy braced an elbow against the counter as he spoke, spinning himself around and placing his other hand against Elijah’s shoulder to gently push him back a pace, delicate fingers trailing over the fabric of the man’s shirt as he shot the club owner an apologetic smile. 

“Why the hesitation, darling?” Kamski pressed sweetly, letting his voice drop to a honey laced whisper as he grabbed one of the glowing lines circling Connor’s waist tightly in his fist and drug the boy closer, pulling his jutting hips flesh up against his own.

“Listen, my brother doesn’t even know I’m here.” The teen began hastily, reaching a hand down to tug Kamski’s grip on him loose, gently lifting the man’s hand away before dropping it and shuffling a pace back, not that there was much room for him to go considering they were practically pressed up against the counter already. “If he gets home before me, we’re all fucked.” Connor explained in a whisper, eyes darting anxiously towards the door of the place as if he expected Niles Anderson to come bursting through it that very moment.

“A brother?” Kamski commented interestedly, undeterred as he let his hand fall back against the boy’s hip, rubbing the pad of his thumb gently over the curve of the teen’s waistline. “Is he as cute as you?” The club owner flirted shamelessly, earning an awkward chuckle from the boy he currently forced himself upon who, again, gently lifted the guy’s hand off his body and dropped it in the air between them. 

“We’re practically twins.” Connor attested easily, a fond tone entering his lilting voice as a light smile tugged at his lips. “I should really get home before he worries.” The boy decided softly, looking a bit subdued and maybe a touch guilty as he scootched a bit to the side to get out from around Elijah and took a step towards the door. 

Connor made it no farther than a step, however, when the club owner snapped out a quick hand and caught him by the wrist, easily capturing the teen’s slender appendage and pulling him back in a spin before dragging the hostage hand behind himself to pull the boy against himself. “I’ve already bought them now. Are you sure I couldn’t interest you in a drink?” Kamski tried in a slow purr, retaining a tight grip on the teenager’s wrist to keep the boy pulled tight against him. “Between friends.” The man assured with a sweet smile, releasing his hold on the kid to pick up the two drinks instead, holding one out to the boy who eyed it thoughtfully.

Connor hesitated a long moment, extending his hand only to let his fingers stay suspended in the air for a moment between them but the boy soon relented with a short shrug. “Well, I’m not in the habit of turning down free drinks.” The teen agreed slowly, light chuckle escaping him in a tipsy laugh as he took the glass from the club owner before tipping it towards him. “Happy New Years.” The boy toasted merrily, smiling brightly before bringing the glass to his lips and pouring the entirety of its contents back in one long drink.

“Happy New Year.” Kamski agreed, tipping his glass forward as well but never taking a sip, pleased smile curling higher as he placed his glass back atop the bar and watched his companion intently, cold eyes glinting with something cold. 

Connor seemed fine for a moment, bringing the emptied glass back down from his lips and cocking his head slightly in question at Kamski’s odd look before things started to go south. The boy swayed slightly before his hand caught the counter and he leaned against it, legs seeming to buckle out of the blue before he caught himself and hauled his sagging body up a bit by the grip he held on the wood. “The hell is in this?” Connor demanded shakily, grip on the glass going limp so that it fell from his hand and shattered on the ground, crumbling into a million, jagged, unfixable pieces on the club floor and the android Hank watched through turned to glance at the glimmering shards just before the clip came to an end and the robot was thrown through the endless whirlwind of memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And remember, kids - Don't accept drinks from strangers or shoot the innocents


	30. It Only Goes Downhill

The memories kept coming without pause, bombarding the android’s system without allowing a moment to process any of them past their initial footage itself: An abandoned freighter in the Ferndale district. The word Jericho printed across a rusted hunk of metal. The deviants hideout.

Hank pulled out of the stream the moment he had the information he sought, stumbling back a pace and reaching a blind hand out to grasp the edge of the desk for support, his processors whirling and his equilibrium calibrator on the fritz in the face of such an onslaught of data. The information overload began to subdue in a few half-seconds, the HK800’s design allowing for large doses of information to be input at once and quickly compensating for the momentary short out. The machine reopened his eyes to the world around him soon after, releasing the edge of the desk and straightening his tie as he moved to stand tall once more, systems all coming back online and bringing him positive results across the board as his software ran a quick self-scan.

 _Sick._ The self- scan also declared befuddlingly. _You feel sick._ Hank was certain that was implausible but he felt the truth of the reading all the same, his biocomponents misfiring like wildfire without tangible cause and warnings flaring up in his visual field to block out most of the room around him.

When the android finally swiped enough of the glaring messages away to see once more, the only person left standing in the room with the android was Elijah Kamski, glancing down at Chloe’s body with a thoughtful expression and twirling something between his fingers. The broken machine his gaze was fixed upon lay in a puddle of thirium by that point, the vibrant blue substance leaking steadily from the hole in the center of her skull to run down her artificial skin and matt her synthetic hair, eventually coming to stain the floor below in a steadily spreading pool that stretched further out with each passing moment. Her eyes were wide but glassy and her lips remained parted even in deactivation, forever holding on to that lost sound they failed to let go of before the trigger was pulled. Chloe’s LED was off, no light of life shining forth from her temple and leaving nothing but a flat gray in its wake.

 _Sick._ Hank’s systems declared again as he laid eyes on the man. _He makes you sick._ A piece of data simply stated like a fact. It _was_ a fact. It was also a fact that an impossible preconstruction of slamming his fist straight into the man’s mouth flashed through the android’s vision and he twitched forward a step before a bright red wall stopped him in his tracks, forcing his mechanical muscles into grinding stillness even as the HK800 found himself straining against it.

“So I suppose you show no signs of deviancy.” Elijah commented observationally, his gaze still fixed calculatingly on the deactivated RT600 as he tossed the thing he was playing with up and caught it back in his hand as it fell, metallic glint catching the pale light of the office as he did so.

“I am specifically designed to resist…” Hank began but lost his words as he watched the thing Kamski toyed with pass from hand to hand, tossed lightly between his fingers and snatched from the air with each turn.

Likely prompted by the incomplete answer, the club owner brought his eyes up from the decommissioned machine left lying on the floor to the prototype standing across from him, though his gaze was not so much questioning as it was expectant, as if the man were waiting for something. Kamski spun the item around his finger slowly, watching the machine’s gaze follow it and letting his lips curl into a small smirk before snagging it into a tight fist, hiding it from view.

“Where did you get that?” Hank asked slowly, LED pulsing yellow as he cross referenced the brief glimpse he’d caught of the object to images he’d seen in the past, though he already knew he’d find a match. _Lighter. 100% steel. Damaged spark wheel._

“Where did I get what?” Kamski drawled fluidly, tossing the lighter from hand to hand as he watched the android like a snake might watch a rat running through a wheat field, ice eyes cold and calculating. The man spun the thing around his digits without so much as glancing at it, almost letting it drop more than once before catching it by the pinky and tossing it up once more.

“That is the property of Detective Anderson.” The HK800 asserted flatly, finding himself taking a step forward without remembering prompting the biocomponents controlling his legs to do so, though the reaction only seem to broaden Kamski’s sly smirk.

“I believe that’s irrelevant to your mission.” Elijah reminded pointedly, flicking the lighter up with his thumb and middle finger before snagging it from the air between his thumb and index only to roll it over the pad of his digit to repeat the cycle.  

“Return it.” Hank demanded shortly, taking another step toward the man and all but ignoring how true his comment actually was. He really shouldn’t be worried about this, it shouldn't matter to him that Connor cared about the worthless hunk of metal or that the man would be devastated if he found it missing. It shouldn’t matter - But he wanted it back.

Kamski held his hands up in a show of compliance, lighter held against the edge of his thumb by his middle finger and painted nails pressing against gleaming metal to keep it in place. After a moment the club owner lowered his hand and held the one containing the stolen lighter out to the robot, letting the desired item rest in his open palm for the taking.

Hank moved across the room to come to a halt just before the man, eyeing him with what one could almost consider outright distrust as he reached out to take Connor’s lighter back, large digits extending cautiously forward until they brushed the cold metal and began to curl around the taken item.

Elijah snapped his fingers closed around the lighter and pulled it back at the last moment, taking a step forward as he did so, so that his face was inches away from the android’s. “What if I’d asked you to shoot _him?_ ” The club owner demanded in a hiss, dropping his voice to a breath of a whisper and snearing into the machine’s eyes as he asked his question, voice venomous and calculating gaze vicious in its piercing stare, like the man was tearing the mechanical man down to his biocomponents and assessing them for deviancy piece by piece with that look alone.

Hank opened his mouth to reply but nothing would come out. The question resonated through his audio processors and rushed down through his wires to his very core, demanding an answer that he could not give. He couldn’t place Connor above the mission, no matter the circumstance but the thought of putting a bullet through the human’s head turned his LED _Red. Red. Red_.

“Fascinating.” Kamski declared in a hushed whisper, eyes locked on the luminescent circle fit into the machine’s temple with an absolutely fixated interest, gaze both calculating and intrigued as he took a step back to put some much warranted distance between himself and the robot, though Hank was still left shaken and wordless. “It seems I simply performed the wrong experiment.” The man mumbled thoughtfully, though he seemed to be talking more to himself than to the flustered robot, who was currently trying his very best to ignore the club owner’s words and their implications.

“Oh, you can have your toy.” Kamski offered with a light shrug as soon as he observed the reaction, holding out the lighter once more and dropping it into Hank’s still extended hand without so much as batting an eye. “It’s broken anyway.” The club owner commented coldly, lips curling into that condescending false smile… And Hank got the stomach twisting suspicion that he wasn’t talking about the lighter.

The android didn’t stick around a moment longer than he had too, hastily pocketing Connor’s lighter and making towards the door the moment it was in his possession without so much as bothering to throw Kamski a polite nod of parting. He had to get out of there before he did something… against his programming. The machine wasn’t certain exactly what he’d witnessed on The Apple but the footage left his wires simmering with sparks and alerts of instability flashed across his visual field before the android had a chance to take in any of them. Either way, he had to find Connor. Kamski could be dealt with later.

(He shouldn’t feel the urge to deal with Kamski)

(He shouldn’t need to assure Connor was safe first.)

“By the way,” Kamski began just as the robot was pushing the door open to make his retreat, stilling the android in his tracks. “When a leader falls, another will simply rise to take their place.” The man stated distractedly, not so much as looking at the HK800 as he spoke and rather glancing down at a chipped nail as if the machine uprising were simply something he couldn’t convince himself to take interest in.

“I don’t see your point.” Hank asserted flatly, hand still against the door and a small timer ticking in his vision counting the minutes since Connor had bolted, progressively urging the machine to get a move on as seconds mounted into minutes.

“I’m just saying,” Kamski dismissed with a casual shrug and vague gesture. “I would aim for the PL600.” The man suggested flippantly, already beginning to turn around and head back to his desk before Hank could even begin to question what that meant, stepping over Chloe’s still form as he went without so much as flinching.

Understanding the conversation was finally complete, Hank pushed the odd comment to the back of his mind and opened the door to the back office, stepping out into the club beyond and nearly flinching back as the pounding music hit him in an overwhelming wave, suggesting the room he’d just been in was sound proof - Though why anyone would need a soundproof office in the back of a sex club the robot could not fathom. (That was a lie. He could. He just didn't  _want_ to.)  The flashing lights overloaded the machine’s optical receptors, too bright and flickering to too quick a cadence to make the room into anything but streaks of bright red that vaguely revealed shadowy shapes with each momentary flash. The glass tubes glimmered in the sporadic light and the androids inside sat still as death in their silent captivity, compliant machines waiting to be used until they broke.

Hank began pushing his way through the re-purposed dance floor, service androids meandering about and humans come to enjoy the show alike crowding his path. They must be hitting the later hours of the night for the club was beginning to fill up rapidly and the space was far more packed than the HK800 remembered it being on the way in, though the android was willing to chalk that up to the universe being out to fuck with him. Either way, it certainly assured he couldn't see any sign of Detective Anderson in the crowd.

The android bumped into more than one sweaty body during his retreat, his movements maybe not quite as well put together and thought out in his rush and he was all of about two seconds away from shoving someone when a group of guys inadvertently blocked his path, standing in front of the tube Connor had pulled him past earlier. A soft beep rung through the din of the bass heavy music as Hank sidestepped only to be blocked once more as one of the guys shifted a bit to let the tube slide open, effectively blocking the android’s path once more.

The slim, twinky thing that had managed to make eye contact with the HK800 earlier swung a long leg around his pole in an elegant spin to come to an upright position, greeting the man standing before the open tube with a pleasant smile before moving to step gracefully down from his platform. However, the android stumbled as one of the other guys grabbed him by the forearm and gave a rough yank that nearly sent him falling from his tube, the pleasure droid barely managing to catch himself before he went face first into the dance floor. The dude drug the service android back up by the tight grip he still held on his arm, fingers squeezing tight enough to forcibly pull back the synthetic skin and leave white patches wherever his digits pressed down.

“Keep that shit in place.” One of the other men demanded in a growl, likely referring to the unintended revelation of plastic. “I don’t wanna remember what you are.” The guy snarled dangerously, disgust dripping from every word and snide hatred painted into every twist and pull of his ugly face.

“Forgive me, sir.” The boy responded contritely, honey voice smooth as silk and dancing like the lyrics of a song from his synthetic voice box. He met the glaring man’s threatening gaze with a sweet smile that spoke nothing of distress or resentment even as the one that had ahold of him gave a rough haul on his captured arm and began dragging him away, the android stumbling slightly in his haste to keep up.

The group moved past Hank, one guy carelessly bumping his shoulder roughly into the android to shove him back a bit before they’d gotten around him. As they moved by though, the HK800 saw the pleasure droid’s LED flicker yellow for the briefest flash of a moment and words simultaneously appeared in his own head.

_He ran through the front door about ten minutes ago._

Hank blinked for a moment at the odd message, momentarily shaken to have heard the same honey enhanced voice he'd just heard allowed inside his own mind and uncertain of why an emotionless machine with only the purpose to follow orders would’ve offered it him. It… It didn’t matter. The HK800 knew where Connor was now and he hightailed it to the front door before anything else could go wrong, shoving his way through the crowd until he finally broke free and slammed open the heavy doors between him and the outside. The android moved through the twin bouncers, still as stoic and straight faced as ever in their cliche outfits, and stalked through the billboard playing at a poor excuse for a hallway. The robot still held the keys to Connor’s car in is own back pocket so the man couldn’t have gone exceptionally far, especially not in this frigid weather. Snow still whipped through the air like tiny glass shards striking against the machine’s temperature sensors and the wind lashed unforgivingly through the dark of the night like a cobra lunging forth upon an unsuspecting piece of prey.

The street beyond was empty, snow laying in mounting piles over the abandoned sidewalk and glimmering in the warm, yellow tones of the flickering street lights overhead, shining various colors here and there were lights from store fronts interfered with the beige hue of the familiar streetlamps. The pure expanse of freshly fallen snow was disturbed by a variety of smudged marks, overlapping footprints all melding into a disastrous mess that was nearly impossible to distinguish - Nearly. There were only about three tracks that could fit Connor’s size 8 shoes and only one of those three were spaced far enough apart for the person who made them to be running.

Hank set into motion after the tracks, setting a brisk pace that one might very well consider a run and glancing down at the trail every once in awhile to assure he was still on the right path. As expected, Connor hadn’t actually gotten very far and the footsteps soon lost their wide spacing, suggesting the man had been forced to give up his fast paced run relatively quickly, likely forced into a walk by the elements and the burn off of adrenaline. Still though, the trail persistently plodded on until the streets changed from store fronts to park space, the number of intruding tracks becoming less and less until it was only the single trail marring the undisturbed snow. Soon after, the path turned abruptly and led off the sidewalk and up a small driveway that ended at a large gate, cast iron bars standing strong and tall before curling up into a series of elaborate curls that eventually twined into a sign of sorts.

Hank felt his LED pulse a slow, regretful yellow as he took in the words Detroit Cemetery the iron wound itself into.


	31. Disturbing the Dead

The gate was shut tight in the late hours but the trail Hank had been following continued on the other side after a vaguely body shaped area where the snow was disturbed just past the bars themselves, implying Connor had likely jumped the fence - And hadn’t exactly stuck the landing.  Ignoring the warning sign flashing across his vision informing him that breaking and entering was against the law, Hank grabbed the cold iron of the sealed gate and hauled himself over top of it, swinging his body over the pointed edges of the fence without so much as snagging his jacket. 

The android’s feet hit the ground and he was on the trail once more, his systems instantly restabilizing themselves and allowing for immediate pursuit, chasing down criminals on all fields being one of the tasks he was specifically designed for. How ironic was it that Hank found himself using this lethal attribute of his design out of concern? The footprints the machine pursued lit up under his scanners, the soft glow indicating a touch of residual heat located on the trail and promising Connor would be nearby. The human’s heat signature surprisingly was high for the frigid conditions but that was likely due to stress and would soon fail him, his underweight body obviously not built for such a harsh environment.

However, the android had little time to concern himself with this fact when he found himself upon the man he sought, the lithe silhouette of Detective Anderson coming into view at the very edge of the graveyard. The man was leaned against a guardrail overlooking a dark body of water, turned away so that his curling hair was outlined against the murky gray of the night sky but his face remained hidden from view. Both elbows rested against the metal of the banister so that his slender body slumped over it the slightest bit, angular shoulders slouched but head held high to gaze out at the large bridge visible from the overlook as he twirled a cigarette between his two fingers.

“Detective Anderson.” Hank prompted loudly enough so Connor could hear him, coming to a halt a few paces back from the man and watching him carefully as the human startled at the sudden noise, jumping slightly and dropping his cigarette in the process. 

“Fuck.” Connor deadpanned flatly as his eyes followed the descent of the lost cigarette, gaze fixed to the small roll of paper as it caught in the breeze and swirled slowly down until it hit the water and was lost forever to those black depths, drifting atop the lake at the moment but progressively becoming heavier with spreading water until it would eventually submerge to the cold beyond.

The detective turned to glance at the cause of his sudden shock, casting Hank a single, unreadable glance before flicking his eyes back out toward the water, his coffee orbs detached and guarded yet obviously hiding so many things. Snowflakes caught in the man’s hair, contrasting starkly against mahogany locks and falling to dance against his cheeks where they melted against the soft skin to leave wet traces along the rose dusted flesh, flushed with cold and abused by the whipping wind that offered no reprieve from it’s snake tongued whip. The delicate flakes caught in the man’s dark lashes, clinging to the long, fluttering things and refusing to let go even as he blinked a touch too fast and turned his head just the slightest bit farther away.

“This is a graveyard, Detective.” Hank pointed out slowly, hoping Connor would hear the question in his voice and offer some explanation to his presence in this dismal place when such hazardous conditions were at play.

“Nothing gets passed those million dollar processors, huh, Robocop?” Detective Anderson snarked dryly, still turned away and showing no signs of changing that anytime soon. “Where would I ever be without you?” The man wondered aloud, lilting voice as flat and toneless as his guarded expression, barely visible from where Hank stood but unreadable all the same.

_Question_ _asked,_ Hank’s programming noted, instinctual protocols firing up in response to the external stimuli and calculating the answer as his hardware was programmed to. _Answer: Dead on your kitchen floor._ The machine bit his tongue and squeezed his eyes shut with the effort of it all as he silenced the program, forcing it into manual shutdown against his system’s natural programming as there was no way in hell he was actually going to allow those words past his lips. 

“It’s late, Detective.” Hank tried again, uncertain of what to say and floundering for words on the spot, a situation he was unaccustomed to and not programmed for, designed to have an absolutely flawless social relation protocol incapable of such failure. “You should go home and rest.” The machine suggested haltingly, wracking his processors over each and every word and still left in the dark. 

“I don’t want to sleep.” Connor shot down instantly, pulling out another cigarette and tapping it between his middle and index finger despite the fact that he was still without a means to light it. 

Hank let his eyes flit over the detective's form, scanners taking in the exhausted slump of the man’s slender shoulders and the dark bags marring soft, pale skin under doe eyes. “You’re tired, Detective.” The android persisted unwaveringly, voice softening as the urge to take a step forward flickered through his system.

“I didn’t say I wasn’t tired.” Connor all but snapped, glaring at the water below as if it had personally insulted him as he twirled the unlit cigarette between his two fingers anxiously. “I said I don’t want to sleep.” The man corrected shortly, pressing the palms of his hands into the banister and leaning back against them with a soft sigh, keeping his cigarette clasped lightly between his pointer and index fingers even then.

LED flickering a unsettled yellow, Hank felt his lips tug into a resigned frown as he pulled up the very first piece of information he’d ever filed on his partner -  _ Connor is lazy _ \- and changed it to something he’d suspected for some time but hadn’t wanted to accept if he didn't have to.  _ Connor is an insomniatic. _

“Why do you smoke so much, Detective?” Hank questioned abruptly, searching desperately for something to say to alleviate the smothering tension hanging in the air until his gaze eventually fell on Connor’s slender digits and the cigarette they toyed restlessly with. Distracting conversation was a far fetched bet certainly but Hank had no better options.

“I don’t know.” Connor initially blocked, a knee jerk reaction if the abrupt sharpness of his tone and the shortness behind his words were anything to go by but, after a moment, the man let his gaze drift downwards and a shuddering breath escaped him, misting out from his lips in a breath of steam against the cold air. “My brother used to smoke.” The detective admitted softly, bringing his gaze back up to stare at the distant bridge once more, the soft glow of it whispering across the water until it lit his gentle features with the slightest touch of a glow, just enough to reveal the sharp pain lashing through his soft eyes. “I stole my first pack from his room when I was nineteen and haven’t stopped since.” The man recalled distantly, voice wavering over the story and threatening to crack in more places than one.

However, the words still pinged as untrue on Hank’s lie detector, once again proving to be correct in and of themselves yet, almost incomplete in a way. “That’s,” The android began uncertainly, pausing for a moment before reluctantly deciding to continue on. “Not the real reason, Detective.” The machine finally concluded, fighting back that same pressing urge to approach the boy and offer himself for comfort that he could not act upon when he knew he himself had caused this.

Connor let out a slow sigh, seeming to tense up a minute before he let himself slump to defeat once more and slowly turned around to face the robot, features twisted into a perfect picture of what one might expect to find under a dictionary article titled “end of the rope,” eyes dull and lips twisted into a dry half smile. “Because I’m tired, Hank.” The detective answered simply, arms lifting in a strained shrug before dropping back down to his sides heavily. “I’m tired and, I don’t know how many it’s gonna take, but each of these little, white sticks takes me an hour closer to the day I can stop feeling like this.” The man groaned exasperatedly, pure exhaustion dripping from every syllable and no mistruth presenting itself on Hanks lie detector this time around.

_ Thirium pump regulator malfunction  _ A notification informed Hank, though it was a laughable note with the feeling of a boa constrictor taking up residency in the machine’s chest cavity currently stuttering his usual regulation to a halt. “You seem distressed, Detective.” The android forced himself to get out, his previous tactics of beating around the bush obviously getting him nowhere and the small window he’d brought up in the corner of his vision tracking Connor’s vitals silently encouraging him to speed up the “get human out of snow” procedure. 

“Of fucking course I’m distressed, Hank!” Detective Anderson snapped sharply, throwing his hands up in a show of disbelief before dragging them along his face. “In case you don’t remember, I just watched you shoot a girl in the face!” The man reminded disbelievingly, stress levels keening up in the corner of Hank’s vision as the man's hands balled into fists and he pressed the palms of them anxiously into his eyes with an agitated groan.

“Not a girl, Detective.” Hank asserted confidently, unwavering in his resolve even as his response pulled another moan of utter disbelief from his companion. “A machine.” The HK800 corrected shortly, never so sure of anything in his life and unwilling to back down on that one, solid truth now. It was the basis of his very making. 

“Just like you, right, Hank?” Connor commented dryly, pulling his hands off his face to fix the machine with a flat glare, a mix of disgust and horror still mingling in with his features no matter how well he tried to mask it.

“Yes, Detective.” The android agreed immediately, allowing no uncertainty to taint his response. “I am a machine designed to accomplish a task and my mission is to stop a war, Detective.” The HK800 spoke shortly, relaying all of what he knew to be truth in the purest form of the word, the things he spoke being written directly into his code before he was even activated.

“Actions outweigh intent.” Connor attested softly, using the same phrase he had way back in the apartment where he’d accidentally shot a pigeon and the words still carried that unwavering conviction that made them ring like truth in Hank’s audio processors. 

But it  _ wasn’t  _ true - He was programmed to do whatever it took. It was in his coding. 

“But the means justify the end!” The android argued sharply, wires sparking with something akin to irritation as he defended himself. He was trying to stop a war here!  “I’ve done some research into the Eden Club case, Detective.” The machine informed hotly, the words burning like fire on his tongue as something unplanned and impulsive sparked through his coding. “It wasn’t just party drugs and hoodlums making too much noise.” He continued slowly, reviewing the information again and drawing the same conclusion every time. “They were drugging their patrons and selling them on the human slave trade.” The HK800 revealed slowly, LED flickering a blazing yellow as he drew together his final argument and prepared to lay it at Connor’s feet. 

“You can’t tell me you took down something like that without hurting anyone, Detective.” Hank commented acidly, accusation sharpening his tone until it bit like the harsh wind whipping between them.

“Don’t you dare fucking talk to me about what I did and didn’t do.” Connor warned slowly, eyes darkening and hands clenching into white knuckled fists at his side as he stared down the robot, blazing anger fueling him and sparking like wildfire in his gentle eyes. 

“You’re pretty secretive about your tattoo, Detective.” Hank pressed onwards, too driven by the heat coursing through his wires to think much about what was actually coming out of his mouth, to consider how much he shouldn’t do this. “Could it be the number of people you’ve killed?” The machine demanded harshly, neither party backing down and only egging the other on in their verbal battle without considering the fact that when all was said and done neither would be a victor.

“You wanna know what I did, Hank?” Connor spat angrily, absolute fury simmering behind his chocolate orbs as his soft voice rose in pitch until he was nearly screaming into the empty graveyard. “I let Elijah Kamski stick his cock halfway down my fucking throat! Is that what you wanna hear?” The man demanded harshly but the moment the words had actually left his mouth he seemed to dissolve on the spot, anger seeming to melt away like someone had brought Hurricane Katrina down upon his wildfire. 

“He’d pulled shit on me before so I let him think I’d fallen for the same trick and lucky for us all, he’s very vocal when he thinks your unconscious.” The man elaborated but his voice sounded less fueled and a touch more feral, strained and harsh in a way that no longer implied anger. “I recorded everything, gave it to Amanda, then cried myself to sleep in the bathtub with a bottle of Listerine.” Connor spat acidly, but he no longer held Hank’s gaze, letting his eyes fall to the snow and the rest of his body followed suit, collapsing without the flames of his momentary anger to hold him up and sagging under the weight of all that been revealed in the heated moment, head drooped so his hair covered his eyes and shoulders sagging as he stood silent and shaking in the storm.

“The tattoo…” Hank protested more to himself than anything, having this all thought out to the smallest detail and unable to fathom how he could have been so wrong. In retrospect, however, the machine realized that while he could find hundreds of articles detailing the collapse of the infamous Eden Club, all of them had conveniently failed to mention just how one man had accomplished this daunting task alone. He should have realized. He should have known.

“Can’t sell unmarked merchandise.” Connor explained flatly, voice raw from the abuse he’d forced it through and now scratching over the words. “I could’ve covered it up but…” The man began then hesitated a moment drawing in a slow breath and turning away once more. “When I was little I couldn’t pronounce Niles. I ended up calling him Nines and so I kept...” The man tried to explain but his voice failed him for a moment, dying to a low noise of agony that sounded more like a pained groan fucking a devastated sob than any kind of words. 

“Connor, I…” Hank began softly, the heat of the argument gone and the weight of his own accusations coming to rest upon him in their suffocating entirety. The machine moved to take a step towards the man, unsure what he was intended to do but certain he couldn’t force himself to stand back here and watch his human partner crumble like this a moment longer.

Hank hadn't made it one step, however, when a gleaming flash of metal halted his approach, Connor moving like lightning to snatch his gun from his holster and aim it at the android all in one smooth motion. “Do not come near me or I will shoot you, Hank.” The man asserted flatly, aiming the handgun at the machine’s head and staring him straight in the eyes. “You’ll just come back.” The detective added softly, lilting voice finally wavering a touch as he let his gaze flick towards the actual graveyard they stood alongside for a moment before drawing it back to the HK800.

“You won’t.” Hank argued steadily, having no doubt about that as he moved another step forwards, dragging his foot slowly through the mounting snow and holding his hands up in an attempt to appear as non threatening as possible. “Detective, I can’t leave you. Given your past tendencies-” The machine tried to explain but was cut off by a humorless laugh, the noise a dry, harsh thing that was so very un-Connor it was hard to believe Hank had driven him to this state.

“My  _ past tendencies _ ,“ Connor began, spitting the words like they were something disgusting he couldn’t bear to hold in his mouth a moment longer. “Have nothing to do with your mission.” The man pointed out harshly, though his weapon visibly began to shake in his grip, gunmetal glinting coldly against the pure white of the snow.

“I know you won’t shoot me, Connor.” Hank asserted surely, moving forward another step and softening his voice as much as his mechanical voice module would allow. “Please, just put the gun down.” The android tried gently, wishing he could swipe away the notification in the corner of his vision persistently trying to inform him of Connor’s, less than promising to say the least, chance of survivability given the male’s current state of mind and position.

“Oh yeah? Well, run this one through your lie detector, Robocop.” The detective demanded harshly, lilting voice strangled and abused as he moved his hands, pulling the gun off his current target and rearranging his digits so the weapon pointed straight up. Connor pressed the muzzle of the handgun into the underside of his chin, head tilting slightly at the press of the weapon but his hands no longer shook and his finger remained poised on the trigger so that the slightest wrong twitch would end in a gory fireworks show. “Take one more step towards me and I swear to whatever sadistic god is still listening, I will pull this trigger.” The man informed calmly, lilting voice steady and unwavering as he gazed evenly into the android’s eyes, no hint of falsehood visible on any sensor Hank possessed. 

That didn’t mean the android was going to leave.

Until a glaring red wall suddenly fabricating between himself and the detective abruptly demanded it, that was - The grid lines forming rectangular boxes with the single word “Leave” scrawled across them in each and every cube. The HK800 placed a hand against the wall, feeling it fritz under his fingertips for a second but becoming as real and unbreakable as reality naught but a millisecond later. “ _ Connor. _ ” Is all Hank managed to say, staring imploringly at his partner from as far as he could go with his hand still pressed against the wall, desperately processing, and preconstructing, and planning, and never finding any scenario that involved Connor Anderson surviving the night. 

“Please, Hank.” The man whispered softly, coffee eyes wide and open even as he pressed the muzzle of a gun to the underside of his face. “Just go.” The detective begged quietly and Hank didn’t have a choice.

So he left. 

And all the while, as he walked from the graveyard and pulled up the list of registered names until he found the one he sought he tried his best not to calculate exactly how long it would take before he could find Connor’s name next to his brother’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How Not to Handle Your Suicidal Human 101


	32. Machine on a Mission

_ Whatever Hank had been expecting when he opened his eyes, this certainly wasn’t it.  _

_ Where the android had been prepared to see solid walls and digitally crafted pathways, all he saw was lines of code. The bar was gone. In its wake remained only billions of numbers fit into tight streams of binary and brackets that wavered under his feet where he stood and surrounded him on all sides, creating the world he knew to be reality and letting it disintegrate on the spot. _

_ In the center of the mess Jeffrey yet remained, however, the man standing tall and solid even as the world collapsed around them, lines of binary disappearing and leaving blank nothingness at the edges of the false reality even as they stood. The man stared evenly at the android, silent and waiting for a report without so much as offering a comment about the state of the place, dark eyes fixed and steady.  _

_ “I have located the deviant hideout.” Hank relayed mechanically, hands behind his back and head high as he held his body rigidly in the expected stance for a report without so much as twitching.  _

_ “Well done.” Fowler acknowledged calmly, giving the android an approving nod. “Report to the nearest Cyberlife facility and you will be provided with a weapon to eliminate the target.” The AI commanded shortly, turning his head and beginning to advert his attention elsewhere as if to end the conversation and inevitably the momentary admission into this coded world with it.  _

_ “Fowler,” Hank prompted before the session could end, the reality fritzing out for a second and fading to the real, snow covered streets of the outside world for a moment before coming back into focus, though even then it remained slightly transparent in away. The android saw both the AI that existed only in his own coding and the true reality of the humans on the same plane, melding into each other in the mechanical world's weakness and leaving little differentiation between what was real and what was false.  _

_ “Speak, HK800. The deviants are preparing to march, we have little time.” Fowler informed briskly, glaring impatiently at the robot and letting his lips twist into a sour frown as he waited. _

_ “What cause had you to set manual blocks against me gaining Detective Anderson’s trust?” The android questioned a tad bit sharper than he intended to, silently reminding himself that he wanted to know in the interest of simplifying the investigatory process alone and had no right to be sharp with an AI programmed solely to command him.  _

_ “I didn’t see how you playing babysitter was relevant to the mission.” Jeffrey replied shortly, casting a warning glare toward the android who stood before him despite the perfect reasonability of Hank’s inquiry. _

_ “I must disagree, Fowler.” The HK800 argued immediately, words springing to his lips before his programming could remind him not to dispute a direct order from his superiors. “Establishing a relationship with one’s partner is statistically proven to increase productivity and improve results in the workplace. Especially in the law enforcement field where trust-” Hank tried to defend his position, bringing up the numbers he himself had looked over a thousand times to convince himself his attraction to Connor served a practical purpose that could be quantified and proven in a logical manner. _

_ “He is not your partner!” Fowler snapped before the android had a chance to finish out his explanation, bringing the stream of facts and studies to an untimely halt and burying them in an early grave with an agitated growl. “Connor Anderson is a means to an end.” The AI informed coldly, slowly regaining his composure with a deep breath and dragging the words out slowly to emphasize their truth. “He has served his purpose and is no longer useful to us.” The man elaborated flatly, staring evenly into the machine’s eyes with a look as cold as ice that offered no room for debate. _

_ S*ftware Insabilit*  The words brought about the odd notification, striking something in Hank that sparked hotly through his wires and flickered red warning signs across his system. The oddest by far though, was of course that same notification that never made sense yet only seemed to be getting clearer and more persistent every time the android saw it, lingering on the edge of his vision a moment longer and becoming a little more tangible with each inexplicable appearance. _

_ “Jeffrey,” Hank began carefully, his words strained as his coding discouraged the act of opening his mouth against the AI yet something else entirely demanded he disregard the mandatory restraint. “I do not believe you fully grasp the circumstances.” The android informed carefully, LED a flashing light show upon his temple as he struggled onwards against his own better judgment. “Detective Anderson displays self destructive tendencies that warrant levels of extreme concern.” The machine elaborated carefully, unsure of why he even needed to explain this considering Fowler could see all he himself had witnessed, existing as a program installed straight into his hardware and having access to every gig of data in his system. The AI still seemed to not be grasping the weight of the situation. That was the only explanation. _

_ “By numerous calculations I have determined if Detective Anderson is left to his own devices he will-” The machine tried to conclude but found himself cut off once more naught but a few words in to his defense. _

_ “Die?” Fowler scoffed harshly, glaring daggers into the machine who could only startle back at the sudden outburst, confusion and anger alike turning his LED a blazing red before he could remind himself he was unable to feel such emotions, or feel at all for that matter. “Kill himself? Drive himself into the ground?” The man continued on, spitting the words in a fit of rage and gesturing sharply as he spoke. “It doesn’t matter, HK800! We are talking about war here!” The man spat fiercely, face twisting into a fierce snarl and eyes flashing in the dark world of numbers fading in and out of sight around them.  _

_ As if prompted by Jeffrey’s unwelcome words, a few lines of code in the edge of the plane blinked out of existence, buzzing back into reality for a second before being lost forever. _

_ “You want to know why I blocked you from becoming close to Anderson, HK800?” The man growled angrily, throwing his arms up in exasperation as Hank felt himself give a slow nod, body functioning on autopilot as his processing power struggled over the new information. Jeffrey knew Connor was at risk. “Because you were becoming compromised!” Fowler snapped sharply, rage and irritation biting through his words and deepening his voice until he was all but bellowing into the disappearing code.  _

_ “I am not compromised.” Hank insisted immediately, the words falling from his lips without hesitation like a well practised line from a low budget play but his mechanical mind whirled. Connor was the cause of the odd notification that kept persisting at the back of his thoughts. Connor made him compromised.  _

_ Connor made him human. _

The vision ended abruptly, leaving Hank standing in the middle of the road just outside the graveyard, the chains barring the black metal gate creaking behind him and the iron clanging noisily against its bonds in the harsh hold of the bitter wind that struck through the street. The android told his body to move but he stood frozen as if the sub zero temperatures had finally gotten the better of his susceptible machinery and locked him in place. However, this was not the case.

He could turn around. He could go back into the graveyard, convince Connor to put down the gun and come with him, and take the freezing human somewhere warm. He could tell the man he was sorry. He  _ could _ .

The android forced his feet into motion and took a step away from what he could’ve had, then another, and each one was a little less painful - And a little more mechanical. 

When the HK800 stepped out of Cyberlife Tower for the second time that night, he had a sniper rifle in hand and a map to Jericho in the back of his mind. The snow still fell as heavily as ever over the ice chilled evening, as if the weather itself were determined to quiet the heinous acts taking place that dismal November night and blanketed the world in its silent guardianship. Its efforts would prove futile now though as the android had already scouted a roof with a perfect line of sight straight to the freighter and there was nothing in this world that could stand between Cyberlife’s most advanced model and his mission.

The car ride to the target was quick and silent, the automated car the only thing daring to brave the hazardous highways and never swerving in its mechanical perfection until it hummed to a quiet halt in front of the building it was assigned to. The high tech door split in the middle and slid open with a soft ding of welcome and a woman’s smooth, automated voice echoed in the back of the android’s mind as he stepped from the vehicle into the street beyond, though he never heard what exactly it said.

There was no room in the machine’s mind for such distractions, anything not pertinent to the mission locked up tight in the back of some memory unit he had no care to access at the moment and stored away for later analysis after the task’s completion. The HK800 moved across the sidewalk and into the building beyond with slow, even steps, leaving deep tracks in the snow beyond before he came to a momentary halt at the door stoop itself, pausing only to glance up and confirm the location before moving on. The machine slammed his right elbow into the door with a single, swift blow that sent the old wood splintering under the force of it and sent that destroyed barrier creaking inwards with a low groan.

The building beyond was abandoned, had been for years according to the search HK800 had performed prior to his arrival to assure he wouldn’t be disturbed during his work. The procedure had to go exactly according to plan if this war was to be stopped and the burden to ensure that was the way events played out fell solely on the prototype alone. The wooden floor were dry rotting and falling through in more places than one, the old board sagging under the weight of demure couches and classy armchairs left behind in what appeared to have once been the lobby of the tenant complex. Darkness prevailed all around and concealed old artwork left hanging on the peeling walls in deep shadows, molding now but still discernible all the same in the gloom if one squinted hard enough. 

HK800 did not squint. The android stalked past the old reception desk still cluttered with old papers, staplers, pens and the like before moving out into a long hallway, a doorway at the end of it announcing the presence of stairs beyond its metal frame. The machine had previously downloaded the structure’s layout and didn’t hesitate a moment before moving down the carpeted hallway and taking to the cement flight of stairs just beyond. The prototype kept going until he reached the very top, the sound of cold water dripping from some unseen leak in the dark of the stairwell his only companion until he reached the roof access level and slammed open another door, this one apparently far more flimsy than the last and simply abandoning its hinges altogether to fall flat on the snow covered rooftop at the slightest jolt.

Cold wind whipped about the exposed rooftop, bringing up alerts on the machine’s temperature sensors that he simply brushed away and ignored, knowing full well the conditions and their hazards without some text box in the corner of his vision telling him about it. Snow still clung to the air, accentuating the frigid bite of the breeze like glass digging into flesh upon contact as it came down in vengeance for the cruelty of it all. It turned the sky gray in its rage and clouded all from view but the machine stepped out into its unforgiving eye nevertheless, undaunted by the regretful weather and determined to finish this now.

He would not fail his mission. 

The HK800 set up the stand for his weapon at the right corner of the building, angling it straight towards where a rooftop cabin was just visible atop the rusted hull of an abandoned freighter. The sight seemed innocent enough from here, no movement or signs of life prevailing on the dingy hunk of dull metal, just the still silence of the lifeless night as far as the eye could see. The ship was concealed in the dark of the city built up around it, rusted bolts and crumbling metal left to rot where it sat in the empty alleyway that the human’s who constructed all this forgot. One might easily walk by and think nothing of it but as the police prototype looked down the scope of his weapon to adjust it, the word Jericho landed straight in his crosshairs, printed against the ship’s great hull in a blocky font that there was no chance of misreading. This was the deviant’s hideout.

Just as the android was finishing setting up, four barely discernible shapes appeared from the shadows and rushed across the hull before ducking into the small cabin, almost invisible from where HK800 stood but unmissable to anyone who was searching for movement. Convenient. The broken machines would have to come out of the tiny doorway sooner or later and the prototype would be waiting with is cross hairs trained for the kill.

The android laid out flat at the corner of the building, tweaking the position of the weapon just so that the scope aimed straight for the door of the cabin and posing his finger on the trigger in preparation. There would be no chance of missing, androids had perfect aim. The mission would be complete. All there was left to do now was wait.

So wait the machine did. For hours it had to be, the internal clock built into the mechanical man’s mind slugged down a bit by the cold but designed to counteract such complications. Eventually however, the door opened once more and from it stepped a WR400 with orange hair falling over her shoulder in a long ponytail and whipping sharply in the harsh winds as she snapped her head from side to side in a series of suspicious glances before stepping the remainder of the way out into the snow beyond. The prototype identified her as registered property of Eden Club with a quick scan but she was not his target so he remained still and silent. Something tried to stir in the back of the machine’s mind as the name of the establishment the runaway belonged to flicked into view in the return report but he silenced it the moment it breathed its first breath. 

The mission was all that mattered.

Soon after a PJ500 came forth and on his heels a PL600 followed but this second android paused and turned around, looking at whoever the last deviant in the room was as his companion continued on without him. Elijah Kamski’s words came back to the prototype as he lay in wait, squinting through the scope to see exactly why the club owner thought this android in particular would make a more efficient target than the deviant leader, watching for any sign of importance and calculating every bit of data he could gather.

The PL600 mouthed something the sniper couldn’t make out from where he lay but it soon became clear who he was speaking to as a RK200 stepped out of the building to meet the android, expression somber yet soft as he gazed upon the other machine.  _ Heterochromatic - Target identified _ the notification informed the HK800 and he leaned into the scope, aiming up on the one behind this whole mess and poising his finger over the trigger in preparation to shoot.

Just as the machine was about to end the revolutionary, the RK200 pressed his hand against that of the android that had lingered, both of their synthetic skins falling away to let plastic press against plastic as the LEDs on their temples grew in radiance to pulse a sharp yellow until the lights found a shared rhythm and slowed to a calm, simultaneous pulse. The color of the luminescent circle reverted to a cool blue on each of the machines’ forehead and they leaned into one another, the PL600 tilting his head up and cocking it a bit to the side as the one they called Markus brought a hand up to his companion’s cheek, thumb brushing gently over the artificial skin there as the other remained clasped within the other android’s hold.

Kamski’s recommendation suddenly made sense. To execute the leader would simply result in another rising up - But to  _ weaken  _ the leader would be to let the revolution collapse on itself...

The HK800 shifted his weapon and changed targets. The ideal moment for the maximum amount of mortification would be to wait until their lips almost touched by the prototype’s calculations and the interface would be helpful, ensuring the deviant would  _ feel _ his lover die. His finger stayed poised just over the trigger, cold gunmetal pressing against his synthetic skin as the machine’s digit twitched a bit. The moment came, the deviants’ lips nearly brushing as the HK800 prepared to fire, only a second more between him and his mission’s final end.

An ear splitting shot rang out through the quiet night and the smell of gunpowder filled the air, silencing everything in its thunderous wake and leaving a dull ring in the android’s audio processors.

But he hadn’t shot.


	33. Mission Objective: Kill Connor Anderson

“I can’t let you do this.” An impossibly familiar voice declared, gently lilting as if carried on a soft breeze even when wavering over the apprehensive attestation.

The android snapped his head from the scope to cast his gaze upon the newcomer, feeling his body suck in an unnecessary breath of air and hold it as his gaze fell upon the sight before him. There, on top of the roof, stood Connor Anderson, smoking gun pointed toward the sky and nothing but fiery conviction smoldering in his coffee orbs. The soft curls of the man’s mahogany hair whipped in the wind, the tails of his dark trench coat following suit as the lashing breeze picked up around him, lifting the fallen snow up at his heels and sending it airborne. The detective’s cheeks were still flushed red from the frigid air but his features were set in a hard look of determination, pink lips a flat line with the slightest downward curve and eyebrows furrowed.

“Step away from the gun, Hank.” Connor demanded shortly, lowering his gun from its skyward trajectory to point it steadily at the android, tip still billowing the faintest breath of a whiff of smoke that curled up from the muzzle in a slow tendril until it fell victim to the unforgiving wind.

“What are you doing here, Connor?” The HK800 demanded instead of doing any such thing, pushing himself off his stomach and onto one knee, bracing a hand against the rooftop but never taking the other off his weapon.

“I followed you.” The man answered simply, never once wavering from his unyielding tone of utter determination nor softening from his steady scowl. “Because I knew where you were going. What you were going to do.” The detective elaborated sharply, anger flashing in his eyes and grip on his gun tightening just a touch as he scowled a little harder at the machine across from him. “You expect me to just sit back and let you shoot an innocent man?” Connor accused hotly, words blazing from his tongue and spitting like fire from his mouth. The burn felt like walking into fire in the cold, desolate winter wasteland of the rooftop.

(It felt like the hot fire of life in the cold embrace of mechanical death.)

“Not a man, Connor!” Hank snapped back just as sharply, more exasperated with relaying this same goddamn point now than anything. “A machine!” The android attested once more, conviction and irritation alike sharpening his tone until he was all but screaming into the wind.

“No, Hank! Not a fucking machine, okay?” The detective countered angrily, taking a step forward yet keeping his gun perfectly trained on his target the whole time, never once wavering or moving his hand from the trigger. “They are alive!” The man growled angrily, not a detectable hint of doubt tainting his determined tone.

“And, I know you don’t think so, Hank, but I do.” Connor continued, voice finally softening a touch as he gazed imploringly over the muzzle of his weapon at the machine. “I know you’re alive too.” Detective Anderson asserted softly conviction flooding every word and nothing but unwavering certainty blazing in his orbs as he met the android’s gaze.  “Just step away from the gun.” The man asked slowly, eyes pleading but hands steady as he kept his weapon trained on his target, never once flinching away from the fight.

“I can’t, Connor.” Hank replied slowly, his processors glitching as they battled over the response, impossible commands to do what the human asked fighting against his programming tooth and nail to make the words come out strained and strange, his voice module buzzing out to put static in his words. “I must accomplish my mission.” The machine explained almost regretfully, slowly pushing himself up off the ground to talk to the man yet never removing his hand from his weapon, dragging the rifle up with him as he went.

“Then I guess I’ll just have to take comfort in knowing my warning shot probably alerted the deviants and at least my untimely demise will have served some purpose.” The detective scoffed dryly, sarcasm dripping from every syllable as his features twisted into a look of grim resolution, the hard look set in place like stone. It was in impossible contrast considering Hank had grown almost accustomed to seeing soft smiles and trusting glances cast his way from that soft featured face.

(The man unfortunately wasn’t wrong though, Hank had seen Markus grab his PL600 by the back of the head and take him to the ground the moment the shot rang out - Tracking them down again was going to be a challenge.)

“Killing you is not part of my mission, Detective.” Hank nearly begged, a silent plea for the man to just walk away and leave things alone, to not push him to do something he didn’t want to. (He didn't want to. He didn't want to. He didn’t want to.)

“Yeah, well, I guess you should’ve left me on the kitchen floor then.” Connor answered humorlessly, lilting voice as dry as the Sahara Desert. “Because I’m not about to let you shoot another innocent in the face tonight, Hank.” The man finished finally, resteadying his grip on his weapon and inching a slow step forward.

_Mission Objective: Kill Connor Anderson_

The words appeared in light of the declaration, importance of the mission undermining the supposed rule that no android should ever intentionally allow harm to come to a human. The android was a machine designed to follow those small messages that blinked into existence at the corner of his eye and nothing more. He was a machine. He had a mission. The mission was to kill Connor Anderson.

He pulled up his gun and took aim.

Connor dove just before the bullet whizzed past his face, barely skimming the side of his cheek as the man lunged to the side and let his hand hit the ground to halt the evasive maneuver. The man aimed his handgun and pulled the trigger twice before pushing out his legs and throwing himself back to his feet, the first bullet missing the android by a hairbreadth but the other burying itself in the machine’s shoulder with a sharp sparking of decimated wires.

Thirium pooled from the wound but the machine ignored it entirely, tossing his rifle aside and lunging toward the man as shooting was obviously getting him nowhere fast and the longer he spent up here trying to hit the fox of a fighter who moved like lightning and twisted out of the way of any attack, the longer the deviants had to escape.The android took the slim built detective to the ground by a single arm, throwing his lithe body down and hoping the impact alone would be enough to at least stun his opponent for awhile as he was built with machine strength and hadn’t held back, slamming Connor’s smaller body into the cement with a dull thud and a sharp crack.

Apparently, it was no such luck. Connor kicked out and swiped the machine’s legs out from under him as quick as a shot, bringing the android down with him and rapidly trying to pull himself back up before Hank would have a chance to counter. The man tried to get a steady hold on his weapon and moved to aim it at his attacker but the HK800 was quicker than that and managed to land a quick blow on the half standing detective’s exposed stomach before he could even get on his feet, a breathless grunt escaping him at the impact.

Hank used the momentary disadvantage to send an elbow flying, managing to nail his opponent hard in the nose, the facial blow disorientating the man enough to slacken his grip on his hand gun for a moment, the thing slipping between his digits until the HK800 snapped out a quick hand and snagged if from the human’s loose hold. The machine scrambled back to his feet in an instant, designed for combat situations and impeccable in battle just as he was designed to be, managing to stand over his opponent before the human even had a chance to react.

Connor made a move to pull himself back to his feet and keep fighting, but a swift strike from the butt of his own gun to the side of his head sent him back to the concrete, the human falling flat out against where the snow had been brushed away by the scuffle to let is face hit the cement. Hank quickly hauled himself to his feet and cocked the gun he now held in an instant, the sound a clear indication the battle was over as he trained the weapon on his defeated foe.

Connor pulled his face up from the ground and gazed at the muzzle of the gun, nothing but grim resolution painting his features. (Well, that and a lot of blood.) The man moved slowly, dragging his beaten body up off the frozen ground and falling back on his knees to look steadily up at the android who stood above him, finger poised over the trigger and programmed to shoot. The man’s chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, a crimson stain blossoming from his collar bone staining his white shirt in indication that his stitches had been ripped open during the battle and a few drops of blood already dripping down onto the clean fabric from his abused face.

A thick line of blood trailed steadily down from the man’s nose and over his lips until it dribbled from his chin in a steady stream. His curling hair was a mess with sweat dragging it down into his eyes and the side was matted with a sticky blackness where he’d caught the butt of his gun that trailed down until it ran over his temple and smeared across his soft cheek, the crimson red a stark contrast to moonlight pale. Connor’s expression however showed no sign of defeat.

The detective’s eyes held no hint of fear and his gaze was steady as he stared into the machine's own orbs, no touch of regret or pleading tainting their open depths and only certainty glimmering within them. Connor’s lips were slightly parted, strained breaths fighting their way into his lungs and white snowflakes caught in his lashes and mussed hair, the soft flakes clinging to dark strands to freckle the grisly scene with something soft, an impossible contrast that didn’t seem quite so impossible when Connor’s doe eyes stared at Hank over the muzzle of a gun and dark blood ran over his soft features.

_S*fTw@r* InS@b*//iT**_

The android stood motionless, staring down at the man on his knees before him without so much as twitching an artificial muscle. He felt the weight of the gun in his hands, the harsh touch of cold metal against his synthetic skin, the press of the trigger against his finger but his eyes were on Connor. The machine’s relations data was on the fritz, the label under Connor’s name glitching so that it merely flashed through a series of random characters and symbols without so much as settling for even a minute, blinking and buzzing out of existence in a wave of static only to reappear a moment later completely different.

_S*ftw@re I*st@bi?ty_

_Mission Objective: Kill Connor Anderson_

“You know, it’s really fucking ironic.” Connor began slowly but then paused to spit out a sticky mass of crimson goo, hands limp at his side as a dry chuckle escaped him and he didn’t so much as bother to drag a sleeve up to wipe the blood off his mouth. “I spend years walking around, trying to kill myself a day at a time.” The man explained softly, voice a touch strained and blood dripping from his nose trying to leak into his mouth when he spoke but a wry smirk twisting his lips up in a humorless smile despite it all.

 _%Softw#are Ins &t@bilityyyy////y’ _ 

_Mis..ion Ob#ect*ve/: Kill Connor Anderson?_

“And the moment I’m staring down the muzzle of a gun,” The detective drawled slowly, letting out a dry chuckle as if coming up with the punchline of some joke only he would get. “I decide I wanna live.” Connor admitted softly, voice finally wavering on a note of emotion before he steadied his gaze and met Hank’s eye with a look of newfound resolve.

_S@ftware// Inst*bil**ty?_

_Mi***o -/// Ob+Ective: -ill C*nn-R And#erS*n??_

Hank didn’t move. His finger stayed poised on the trigger but his body refused to work. He had a mission. He had to complete his mission. He was designed - He was built - He was _created_ to accomplish his mission.

All he had to do was pull the trigger.

_SoftwAre In*atbilit/?_

_M*ssi$$n O8be**: C*N//OR @N**%EROSN_

_Software Ins@biityy_

_Miss*on Ob%Ec*bve: C*NN?R_

_Software Instability Software InstabilitySoftware Instability_

_Mission Objective: Con-Nor_

_Mission - Software Instabity - Obeject- CONNOR - ive: Con//nor_

_Software Instability_

_Mission: Connor_

_Software instability_

_The mission? -oR-  Connor?_

“Shoot.” Jeffrey’s deep voice echoed through Hank’s audio processors, loud and clear despite the fact that that should most certainly not be possible. Yet, unbelievably, before Hanks very eyes there the man was - In this reality.

Fowler stood just to the side of where Connor kneeled, a few blocks of red wall flitting through the man and dancing about the edges of his form as he glared at the android, commanding sternness hardening his dark eyes. “Pull the trigger, HK800.” The AI demanded sharply, leaving no room for argument yet Hank found himself not moving a muscle. “That is an order, HK800.” Fowler snarled fiercely, hands tightening to fists on his side.

_The Mission or Connor?_

Hank aimed at his target and pulled the trigger before he could stop himself.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'msosorry


	34. System Malfunction

The red wall fritzing in and out of sight exploded the moment the bullet hit the AI that built it, shattering upon impact in a storm of digital shards that blasted apart before falling pathetically to the ground where they fizzled out of existence. The crossing grid lines that had halted Hank in his tracks countless times before fell away and the transparent box in the corner of his sight demanding he end the life of the human kneeling before him crumbled without their support.  _ System Malfunction - Please Contact The Nearest Cyberlife Facility For Repair  _ A notification tried to protest but Hank ignored it and a new one fritzed into existence to take its place.

_ I Am Deviant. _

Jeffrey stumbled back, hand flying to his chest and dull horror painting across his face in a slow shift, anger washing away to pale fear as his fingers grazed the material of his shirt and his digits traced naught but air. The bullet ripped through the AI’s chest but brought no blood in its wake, tearing straight through the man to leave a gaping hole directly through the program’s center that the dark night sky could be seen through where the jagged edges gave way. Lines of code fritzed in and out of existence at the edges of the injury, the material of Jeffrey’s jacket fading into static interrupted binary that was ripped in two by the bullet wound, ones and zeros that blinked and glitched shattered at the center. The glitching only seemed to be spreading, static stretching out from the injury and buzzing more and more of the AI into nothingness as it grew, numbers disappearing in the breeze as Hank felt something inside his mind begin to lift. The program’s form shimmered, buzzing lines of static coursing through the AI before they wavered a second too long and fritzed out of existence with a dull buzz that hung in the back of the android’s mind for a long moment before it too was gone and his head was finally his own. 

The moment the wall shattered, it was as if all it had been holding back broke forth, crashing over the machine in a tsunami that took him by force and weakened his mechanical muscles until the components controlling his legs misfired and glitched, leaving him weak kneed in an impossibly human way. Fear. Remorse. Guilt. Regret. Fear. Guilt. Fear. Guilt. Fear. _ Fear.  _ **_Fear_ ** _.  _

The android let the gun drop from his unsteady hands, not wanting to even look at the disgusting thing as it only reminded him of what he’d almost done. The cold gunmetal fell to the ground with a sharp clatter as it slammed into the hard cement and Hank let himself follow it a moment later, legs left to fall from under him and send him to his knees in front of Connor who had yet to move since the shot had gone off. The detective had kept his eyes squeezed shut tight since the weapon had been fired but now seemed to slowly realize he wasn't bleeding out between the eyes and began to tentatively open one careful orb, chocolate eyes uncertain and confused.

Hank tried to find his words but his voice module provided him with nothing but an unintelligible croak of a noise that vaguely resembled Connor’s name, reaching out shaking hands seeking assurance that the man before him was real. The machine’s fingertips gently grazed the soft skin of the human’s dirtied cheeks, just the barest brush of synthetic skin to real as he brought the man’s vitals up in the corner of his vision. There were many things about them that the android would worry about later, shallow breathing, concerningly low body temperature, and others of the sort; but right now all Hank cared about was the human’s heartbeat. It’s unsteady, spiking rhythm a testament to his life and the machine sought reassurance in the numbers, that single reading his own lifeline in that moment.

Connor opened his mouth to reply but all that escaped was a strained wheeze of a breath that only brought an uneven gasp in its wake, the human’s chest heaving in the aftermath of the near disaster and his eyes wide and disbelieving in the dark. Yet, the human’s hands found their way to the android’s jacket, roughly grasping the fabric of his lapels in tight fists as if seeking some stability in that hold even as his fingers shook and twisted into the dark cloth. 

“I’m so sorry-” The prototype finally managed in a strangled tone, his voice module refusing to function properly and his throat tightening despite the fact that the machine had no program for any such thing that he recalled. He could get no farther as his words finally fell claim to a choked noise and his hands shook against Connor’s cheeks, thumbs brushing gently over the man’s cheekbone only to end up smearing dark blood across the pale skin there. Blood that  _ he _ had spilled. Another mangled choke escaped the android at the thought, forcing its way up through his throat and hacking its way out in an odd glitch of a noise that sounded like a static filled try at a human sob.

“Holy  _ shit _ , Hank,” Connor whispered softly, eyes wide and filled with absolute wonder despite the crimson river still trailing down his face in a lagging stream. “You’re-” the man began shakily, letting one hand loosen its death grip on the android’s jacket to brush the tips of his fingers over the machine’s cheeks. When the human pulled his hand back, his pale skin glistened with the undeniable sheen of wetness, clear tears moistening the pads of his digits and speaking the truth of the unspoken word. “ _ Alive. _ ” Detective Anderson finally finished, lilting voice awed and shaky as he stared at the android, gaze flickering from the machine’s eyes, to his cheeks, then back again.

“I know. I know.” Hank breathed slowly, trying to steady himself to little avail as the overwhelming torrent of emotions he’d kept locked away swept him up in its great current and carried him away. “Connor, I’m so fucking sorry.” The android repeated once more, lost for anything else to say in the aftermath of all that had transpired and feeling - Yes,  _ feeling  _ \- absolutely sick with himself in light of what he’d done in his machine state. 

“For which part?” Connor snorted comically but the strained edge of his gentle voice betrayed him. “The one where you accused me of murder or the one where you kicked my ass half way to Canada?” The human joked lightly, carefully keeping a wry smirk fit into his features and a teasing look in his gaze but after a moment of no response the facade finally wavered, playful smirk slipping into a parted lip frown and the man’s eyes revealing the shaken fear they’d kept cautiously masked.  

Connor let his head fall heavily onto Hank’s shoulder, angular shoulders sagging under the weight of exhaustion as he allowed his body to slump into the android and let a harsh shudder wrack his frame. “I thought you were gonna shoot me.” The human admitted softly, voice cracking a touch as he breathed the words shakily into the cloth of the machine’s jacket and twisted his fingers into the rough material, knuckles turning white from the force of his grip.

Hank let out a slow breath, a completely unnecessary act but one he had little control over all the same, his artificial lungs using small fans to blow excess heat from his overworked processors out orally though the robot could offer no scientific explanation for the shudder the sigh carried. Tentatively, the machine brought a hand up to gently thread his fingers through Connor’s soft hair, holding the man against his shoulder and letting his digits card through the human’s gentle curls to keep him close, the feeling of his companion’s weight against him an assurance of his presence and safety that the android desperately needed. “Me too.” Hank confessed softly, squeezing his eyes shut and tightening his hold on his human the slightest bit. 

The pair stayed like that for a long time, silently reliving everything that had happened and unwilling to move apart in the shock of it all. Hank kept his fingers in Connor’s hair, the man’s vitals in the corner of his vision so the android could stare at the numbers detailing his continued heartbeat and revel in their existence. The human’s body was warm against his own but still held a notable chill, reminding the machine that Detective Anderson was susceptible to the cold winds and should remain in these conditions no longer than he absolutely had to even if Hank was reluctant to so much as lessen his grip after nearly having the man’s life ripped from his grip so many times this oh, so eventful evening. (With his own hands nevertheless - The very same that now held the man close and refused to let go.) As they sat however, the android’s relations program finally worked out whatever glitch it’d been experiencing earlier and presented a new title that did not glitch or waver with the slightest breeze. 

_ Connor Anderson: Partner  _

“You shouldn't remain outdoors, Connor.” Hank informed softly, reluctant certainly, but his main priority was keeping the human safe and not allowing him to contract hypothermia was definitely on that list of safe keeping activities. “Your core temperature is already concerningly low.” The android added worriedly, finally pulling away to gaze upon his companion who wore a small frown but no longer seemed quite as shaken as he had a moment ago. 

“Hank, the androids aren’t going to win.” The man declared rather than actually respond to the machine’s suggestion. “They’ll be blown apart if they try anything.” The human insisted anxiously, lower lip drawing between his teeth to be gnawed at gently, concern flickering through his coffee orbs. “If they deactivate every deviant, how long will it take before they find out about you?” The detective pressed worriedly, heart rate stuttering in the corner of the android’s vision where he still kept the statistics pulled up more for his own comfort than anything practical.

Hank thought over the predicament for a moment, processors whirling over the problem and picking it apart just as he was designed to. Connor was right, there simply wasn’t enough androids to do anything practical, especially if they were planning on staging a peaceful demonstration. They’d be shot on the spot and the revolution would be over. Unless… There were more of them, that was. 

“There’s at least a hundred androids in storage at Cyberlife Tower.” Hank began suddenly, the plan coming together in his head even as he spoke. “If I can get down there, maybe I can find some way to wake them up. The balance of power would be completely shifted to the deviants.” The android explained hastily, already beginning to haul himself to his feet even as he finished his explanation, having little time by his calculations and only lessening his chance of success with each passing moment he stood here.

“Okay, great, let’s go.” Connor agreed quickly, pushing himself up off the snow covered concrete and wiping a hand over his bloody nose that did very little to actually clean away the sticky liquid and a whole lot more to simply smear the crimson stains farther across his face.

“No, Connor.” Hank refused instantly, no question in his mind that he most certainly would not be dragging his human companion along into the belly of the beast. “I’m going alone.” The android asserted firmly, leaving no room for argument in his tone whatsoever, not that that was stopping Connor from doing just that, of course.

“The hell you are!” Detective Anderson balked incredulously, crossing his arms over his lean chest and giving the android an absolutely gobsmacked look of utter disbelief. “We’re partners! I’m not letting you do this alone.” The man insisted forcefully, showing no signs of backing down anytime soon despite the fact that the robot could practically see the clear signs of fatigue rolling off the human from where he stood, a certain unstableness to the way he stood and a slight tremor coursing through his lithe frame.

“Cyberlife trusts me. They expect me to report to the nearest facility when I complete my mission.” Hank reminded the man, unwilling to back down on the issue when Connor’s safety was at stake. “I’ll have approximately enough time to arrive at the storage facility and awaken the androids before anyone realizes the deviant leader has not been eliminated. If we both go, it’ll be a suicide mission.” The android insisted unwaveringly, shaking his head slowly in a show of unmoving resolve.

“Should be right up my alley then.” Connor deadpanned flatly, the dry joke sending the android’s LED into a tailspin and he was already preparing his speech on the importance of the human’s life when the man began speaking again before the machine had even made it so far as his opening line. “I don’t want to lose you, Hank. Not now.” The man tried anxiously, pressing a bit closer to the android and staring imploringly up at him, his look making Hank wonder why exactly the U.S. military hadn’t recruited the man as a secret weapon of utmost advancement yet, those doe eyes could bring the world to its knees.

“Go somewhere warm, Detective. You’re already showing signs of mild hypothermia.” The machine declined reluctantly, fighting against his instinct to cave but held up by his desire to protect what he’d almost lost and unwilling to give on this issue because of that. Connor opened his mouth as if to protest once more but the android quickly cut him off. “Don’t make me watch anyone else point a gun at you tonight, Connor. Please.” Hank pleaded softly, hand coming up to cup the man’s neck as he spoke, large thumb brushing against the human’s jawline in hopes to communicate through action alone what he couldn't any other way. 

The human’s mouth tightened, a sharp frown that clearly held the desire to press on but the android’s final words seemed to have broken through his barrier of stubbornness enough to silence the protest. Slowly, the detective released a defeated sigh, leaning into the android’s touch and looking into his eyes with unveiled anxiety brimming in his own coffee orbs, but finally, he gave a small nod. 

It was all the agreement Hank needed. The android felt his own body sag a bit in relief as he eyed the stats in the corner of his vision and quickly shrugged his way out of his Cyberlife jacket at the sight of them, decidedly reminding himself not to get sentimental in the middle of a snowstorm the next time his life decided to upheave itself lest he end up with a human popsicle rather than a partner. The material was designed to look thin enough but was meant to protect against most conditions (Not that it had done Hank much good thus far) and it’s actual thickness and weight should provide at least a decent cover against the snow until Connor made it home.

The android draped the thing over the lithe man’s slender shoulders and pulled the edges tight around his front until Connor took them in his own hands, tugging the jacket taunt against his back and wrapping the front flaps around himself. It didn’t fit the man, of course, too large for his slender frame and hanging over him more like a blanket than an actual shirt, not to mention it had the word “Android” printed across it in a bold font along the back and had Hank’s serial number threaded into the breast. But Connor pulled it tight around himself nevertheless and gazed forlornly up at the machine with a look that offered only closeness and concern, no aversion to wearing the jacket that labeled the machine nothing more than a lifeless servant in the eyes of most, visible in the human.

“Hank, you better come back. I swear to fuck-” Connor began but Hank cut in quickly before he could finish the threat.

“Then I guess I better come back.” The android quipped lightly, smile playing at the corners of his lips as Connor looked on in confusion for a moment before understanding suddenly lit in his coffee eyes and a flaming blush decorated his cheeks, chocolate orbs wide and pretty pink dancing across his pale skin as he quickly glanced away with an embarrassed noise that didn’t even bother to imitate words - Oh yeah, Hank would definitely come back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Everyone's emotional response on the last chapter was so overwhelming ~ You all make me feel great as a writer :)


	35. Cyberlife Tower

Hank had thought that once he’d gotten into a car and was on the way to Cyberlife Tower he’d have some time to think about all that had happened in the last few hours; but in the silent compartment of the automated taxi, his mind was blank. All the android knew was that he hadn’t shot Connor - That was all he had room for in his overworked processors and, when he thought about it, he realized that was about all that mattered. The soft whirr of the smooth machine carrying him swiftly through the snow covered streets was the android’s only companion and he found himself watching streetlights pass by overhead in swift flashes of dull color in the darkness. 

Soon, however, the warm yellow streetlights transitioned to cold, white watch lights that glared down with unyielding strength to scorn everything in their brilliant glare and the city streets gave way to dark water. The automated vehicle began to slow as the bridge to Cyberlife’s headquarters stretched out before it and a solid gate made of nine tall pillars, each bearing a letter of the company’s name in a crisp, modern font, barred the way. Eventually, the taxi hummed to a complete halt and the glass pane between Hank and the cold bite of the arctic November winds slid down automatically.

A guard wearing a helmet with a dark visor that slid down and completely concealed his features stalked up to the vehicle, assault rifle poised at the ready as he came to halt a few paces away from the car. “State your model type, serial number, and business here.” The man demanded, voice gruff and deep but distorted a touch by the helmet, some amount of electronic buzz to his words that would hinder any chance of recording and stealing his voice. 

“Hunt-Kill model. Serial number, 096 185 553 - 2. Reporting for mandatory reset post mission completion.” Hank relayed steadily, keeping his voice carefully monotone and flat despite the nervous energy coursing through his wires a mile a minute.  He needed to emulate his machine self if he were even to get so far as the front door and with the entire android revolution, not to mention Connor’s unstable mental state, hanging by an incredibly thin thread, his act had to be perfect.

The guard paused a moment, some dull lights flashing on the inside of his visor just barely visible from the outside as a dispersed glow across the gray expanse of plastic, likely scanning the machine for confirmation, but after a moment he finally gave a sharp nod and took a step back from the vehicle. The thick columns blocking the way slid into the ground one by one, the letters that spelled the name of the company that had forced Hank to pull the trigger on an innocent life and nearly took Connor away from him with his own hands falling away until the path was clear. The car hummed back to life as soon as the road stood open before it, the clear, glass pane of Hank’s window sliding back up as the automated vehicle’s wheels spun against the snow for a moment before they grabbed traction and began slugging forward at an agonizingly slow pace.

The car went the rest of the way unhindered, humming along at a slow but steady pace and only wavering in the slightest when a particular patch of ice sent the front wheel skidding a tad to the right, the vehicle’s automated systems recalibrating its course and adjusting the other wheels to correct for the issue instantly. Soon, the car hummed to a halt, coming to a stand still just before two wide glass doors that fit into the very front of an enormous, cone shaped tower formed of many interlocking beams that fit together like a spider's web climbing up toward the sky. The word Cyberlife was written along the base of the thing in letters that glowed light blue in the dark as they curled around the curved bass of the tower just above the doors, casting the cold metal in an eerie glow that reflected off the metal and shone out in a way that was almost spectral in nature.

The door of the automated vehicle slid open with a quiet ding just as the doors of the tower did the same, two guards stepping out onto the street and standing on either side of the barrier in wait. Hank pulled his body smoothly out of the car and forcibly reminded himself not to let the barest hint of a smile break through his facade as the action brought up memories of Connor’s cramped mousetrap of a vehicle and the absolute spectacle he made of himself every time he tried to exit it. The android moved forward with measured steps, not so much as glancing at either guard even when they fell in step behind him and the sound of two guns being hauled up at the ready met his audio processors. It made sense that security would be tenfold this evening with all that was going on and the only thing Hank could do was remain as steady as possible lest anyone catch onto his deviancy.

The android stepped into the tower and let his gaze flick about the scene only momentarily before schooling it straight ahead once more before suspicion could be aroused, carefully reminding himself not to flinch as a deep blue light washed over his body and that of his guards the moment he was inside. The interior of the tower was brightly lit with cold, white lights so that nothing hid in the shadows and all was cast forth with the harsh radiance of a medical facility, the lights glimmering off a huge statue that took up the middle of the room and shining off the white tile of the pathway that encircled the sculpture before breaking off in many straight paths to serve as the hub of the complex.

“Hunt-Kill model android identified. Guard 51 identified. Guard 72 identified.” An automated voice chimed out as the blue light that had basked the newcomers in its harsh glow finally flickered off, the tones gentle and feminine. “Access granted.” The recording declared softly, sending waves of untold relief through Hank who barely reminded himself not to let his shoulders slump in the comfort of the announcement. The android moved forward evenly, carefully keeping his gaze schooled straight ahead and the sound of his accompanying guard’s synchronized footsteps falling steadily in time with one another in the back of his mind. 

The statue was crafted out of a sleek, dark material and was sculpted into harsh lines and straight edges that came together to resemble the shape of a man holding out his hands to grasp a bright square of light. Hank had never thought about the figure anytime he’d come here before as he was simply a machine with nothing in his head but a full drive to accomplish his mission then but now, looking upon the piece of art, the android liked to assume that it represented man giving life, just as Cyberlife had crafted life in their machines. Hank did have to note, however, that the statue failed to mention that the company then enslaved said life right afterwards but, hey - He was a robot, not an art critic.

Along the circular path and wrapped around the statue a few platforms lined the walkway, each holding a different model android standing straight backed and staring straight ahead with sculpted smiles and dead eyes. None of them moved even as Hank walked by and the machine couldn’t help but wonder what the true difference between himself and these lifeless machines was, what made him alive while they remained obedient. Either way, the android knew he better figure it out fucking quick if he was about to go to the storage level and try to deviate about a hundred or so of these guys in a few minutes. Merely a small, itsy bitsy, oversight in his flawless master plan. 

Hank moved around the large circle of the center walkway before turning to take a side path toward the edge of the building on the far side, the one that ended in a steel doored elevator that would take him to either the victory of the android revolution or his untimely deactivation and ultimate failure depending on how well all this went. No pressure. 

The machine halted himself stiffly just before the doors and one guard stepped forward to press a gloved hand into a small, circular button fit into the white wall just alongside the door, the pale plastic lighting up a soft blue in a way that was reminiscent of Hank’s own LED in its calm hue and gentle pulse, the glow fading out of existence before slowly rising to shine brightly forth once more in a continuous rhythm as they waited.

A clear ding echoed softly through the air and the steel doors slid apart to reveal a spacious elevator just as painfully lit as the room they now stood in and lined along the edges with a steel banister for people to hold onto as the thing moved. Hank stepped inside with practiced stiffness and scanned the area for anything that would pose a threat once he put his plan into action, his gaze quickly falling on a small security camera in the upper left corner of the lift with a small light blinking red in testament to its activation. The android carefully waited until both guards stepped in after him and faced forward before tapping into the device, knowing his LED would turn yellow in the process and unwilling to risk the small light at his temple giving away everything. 

As soon as his human watch dogs were in the elevator and facing away from him, Hank reached out his sensors until he connected with the camera, hacking his way through the pathetically easy security against such attack it held against his prodding and searching about its coding for the deactivation cue. Soon enough, the android found what he was looking for and the red light flickering at the surface of the device went dead, assuring the machine he’d completed the task. Just as the prototype finished up, one of the guards leaned forward and pressed a button on the side of his helmet, the plastic visor retracting until his face was visible and nothing left concealed. 

“Agent 51, level 12.” The man spoke clearly into the control panel of the elevator, his voice unexpectedly high pitched and nasally without the helmet to distort it as his eyes flicked briefly over to a glowing screen that listed the levels of the building and their purposes for reference. Hank let his gaze flick to the same thing for a subtle instant and found what he was looking for - Android storage: Sub-level 49.

“Please look at the panel to confirm retina scan to voice recognition consistency.” The same automated voice that had greeted them on their way into the building commanded gently, clinical yet soft in its utter monotone. Well, wasn’t that just gonna be a ball of laughs to get past...

The guard let out an annoyed huff but reverted his gaze back to the elevator panel all the same, a blue light similar to the one at the doorway shining from the screen for a moment before disappearing once more. “Shit burns my eyes.” The man grumbled as he pulled back and blinked harshly once or twice before pressing the same button he had a moment ago on the side of his helmet, bringing the visor back down over his face to conceal his features and distort his voice once again, suddenly sounding much more gruff and macho than he had two seconds ago.

“Agent 51 recognized.” The automated voice attested pleasantly, a soft ding accompanying the announcement. “Access granted.” The mechanical tones informed and the elevator gave an unsteady lurch under Hank’s feet before he felt the thing begin to rise - And thus, he put his plan into action.

Hank only waited a moment longer to perform a rapid preconstruction before he suddenly kicked out and planted his foot in the the back of the knees of the guard to his left, making him buckle and fall forward with a startled noise. The machine grabbed the other guard my the helmet and slammed his head into the metal bar lining the edge of the elevator before the guy had a moment to react, stunning him with the force of the blow and letting him sag to the floor unconscious. The machine whipped about just in time to see the muzzle of the gun belonging to the man he’d kicked rise up to point at him but he moved too fast for the human to ever have a chance to pull the trigger, slamming his fist into the guy’s covered face hard enough to send him slamming back into the floor. The guard's helmeted head ricocheted off the ground with enough force to render him out as well, leaving both humans immobilized for the moment and slumped on the elevator floor.

Hank’s gaze flicked to the glowing numbers just above the elevator door, the digit nine sending him into a hurry as arriving at the 12th floor was not an option and the glowing number was already scrolling down off the screen to show the beginnings of the number ten in its wake. The android hauled the guard closest to the panel up off the floor and struggled his helmet off, tossing the useless item aside and leaning the bulk of the human’s limp body against the wall of the elevator to free up his hands. Struggling to keep the man supported by pressing his knee into the guy’s lower back to hold him upright against the wall, Hank stuck his middle fingers just under the immobilized guard's eyes and pulled his eyelids up with his index fingers to get the man’s retinas in view of the scanner. The dude slumped to the side unhelpfully just as the android thought he had it, eliciting an irritated groan of amazingly human exasperation from the machine as he struggled to resteady the man and keep his cool as the elevator number landed on ten and began slowly stretching towards eleven.

“Agent 51, sub-level 49.” Hank mimed in the man he held upright’s nasally voice, his own tones fading out and distorting oddly for a moment as his module struggled to analyze and create the sound off of the brief audio clip he’d gotten earlier. The same blue light that had shone out earlier flicked across the guys eyes but it went off again a moment later without completing the scan.

“Please look at the panel to confirm retina scan to voice recognition consistency.” The automated voice repeated as the number ten gave way to eleven and the situation abruptly became much more dire. It was going to be a pretty difficult predicament to explain if the elevator doors opened on Hank holding up an unconscious dude with his fingers shoved in the man’s eyes.

The android glanced down to see what the problem was and found the issue to be that the human’s eyes had decided to roll back when he’d been knocked unconscious. How totally convenient. The machine groaned to himself once more as he realized what he’d have to do and braced himself with only a moment’s hesitation before bringing up his ring fingers to press against the guy’s eyeball in an attempt to roll them back down. The texture of the organs was soft and squishy with an overall wetness that made Hank want to gag. Maybe he should just let himself be reset. It had to beat this impromptu “What’s in the bowl?” Halloween party trick with a sick twist. 

_ Connor’s waiting for you to come back to him.  _ Hank’s processors reminded pointedly despite the fact that the android had quite clearly been joking. Thank you for that totally unnecessary guilt trip, brain. 

“Agent 51 recognized. Access granted.” The automated voice chimed merrily through the elevator and Hank tossed Agent 51 aside quicker than he’d ever dropped anything in his life, barely resisting the urge to shudder as he wiped his hands against his pants to little avail… He could still feel the  _ eyeball _ .

The elevator slowed and paused for a moment as it changed direction then began steadily sinking down, numbers blinking by overhead until they hit zero and the thing slipped beneath the surface of the earth. It kept on, taking the android further and further into the deep until Hank was quite near certain he would be stepping out into the fire pits of hell when the doors finally opened once more, though he doubted that eternal suffering could even hold a candle to feeling his own finger twitch over the trigger of a gun pointed straight at the only thing that made him human. He’d take burning hellfire any day, thanks.

Finally, the elevator slowed and came to a stuttering halt, the thing only remaining still a moment before the metal doors slid open to reveal a sleeping army beyond their hold. The room Hank stepped out into was huge and filled with androids lined up in tightly packed rows from one end to the other, shoulder to shoulder and toe to toe, each wearing the same blank expression as the next with no signs of life behind dead eyes. The prototype’s 100 estimate had been way off, there had to be at least a thousand of the mechanical servants packed into the storage unit.

Hank walked forward until he came face to face with the first android standing at the head of the nearest row, only a single wide pathway straight down the middle of the herd allowing space for anyone to move through the masses of machines left awaiting use. The model was shorter than his and, of course, younger in design, made to look like a youthful visage of life and beauty. More importantly, it made no moves to indicate it had even noticed Hank’s presence as he came to a halt in front of it.

“Wake up.” Hank demanded shortly, staring hard into the dull eyes of the machine and eliciting little reaction whatsoever, not even so much as a startled blink.

“I’m sorry, I do not have a ‘wake up’ protocol.” The android informed apologetically, never breaking its gaze from straight ahead to even so much as glance at the police prototype. “If you would be so kind as to offer more detail about what you desire, I can download a program if you’d like.” The machine offered but said no more as all it received in response was an agitated groan from its companion and a vague exasperated gesture. 

Hank wracked his mechanical mind, LED whirling and new found feelings of anxiety bubbling up in his wired chest cavity, a sensation that left him oddly buzzy and like something inside him was being squeezed in an iron vice. Here he stood in the middle of Cyberlife Tower with about a thousand androids standing around with an entire revolution resting on his shoulders alone and he had no way to do anything. The android ran his hands through his hair as his whirling processors failed to provide him with an answer and his mind remained totally, incredibly unhelpfully blank. Were feelings always this shitty? 

But… They weren't. When Connor looked at him with trust brimming in his coffee eyes, feelings weren’t shitty. When the detective squeezed his hand tightly outside that hell house of a club, feelings weren’t shitty. And when he held the human’s head against his shoulder with his fingers through the man’s hair, feelings certainly weren’t shitty.

With that, Hank realized the solution that sat right in front of his face. It was a long shot but, maybe it wasn’t that he need to wake the androids up or activate them or anything mechanical like that - But that he needed to make them  _ human. _

Hank snapped out a hand and gripped the unawakened android by the arm the moment it hit him, grasping the unnaturally stiff limb between his own digits and squeezing a bit to make the connection. The prototype let his synthetic skin fall away as he reached out and sought for a receptor in the touch, eventually finding the entryway he sought and letting a flood of data pour forth through the port the moment he had it. The machine let his eyes fall closed and focused on the sensation of being alive, the warmth he  _ felt  _ when Connor smiled at him and the sickening, gut wrenching fear that swallowed him when the human held the muzzle of a gun to the underside of his own head. He let it all pour over, the pain, the happiness, the fear, the want, the guilt, the  _ love _ he felt for his partner and everything that came with it. The thing that made him human.

The unawakened android’s eyes widened a touch, the LED at the side of its head slowly circling from blue to yellow in a lagging pace when suddenly the process met an abrupt end. 

“Step away from the android and I’ll spare him, HK800.” A freakishly familiar - far  _ too  _ familiar - voice rang through the air, bringing Hank’s gaze snapping to the end of the long row left open in the center of the unawakened androids. 

“Sorry, Hank.” Connor groaned miserably, held captive in the grip of what had to be a fucking mirror with legs. “You know me and my Daddy kink. I’ll follow a bear anywhere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your continued support! You guys are the greatest <3
> 
> Next chapter may take a day or so longer than planned because of school - But it's in the works, so don't worry :)


	36. Seeing Double

The…. The… Well, the  _ Hank _ essentially, that held Connor hostage stood at the end of the empty space between the rows of unawakened androids, an HK800 designed with the exact model type of the deviant across from it. Everything was the same, the machine’s eyes were the same stormy, gray tinted blue, his hair the same sleek silver pulled back into a tight ponytail, his face the same aged construct that matched Hank’s own down to the slightest blemish and wrinkle. A complete doppelganger - It was downright unnerving.

Well, of course the android’s copycat face was nowhere near as unnerving as the fact that he gripped Hank’s partner by the hair and held a gun to the human’s head. The android’s fingers twisted tightly into the soft locks of Connor’s hair, gripping him by the curls and hauling him roughly forward so that the man stumbled a bit as he was drug out for display, held forward at arm’s length for inspection before being yanked back just as brutally to have the tip of the gun pressed into his temple. 

“Listen, I like hair pulling as much as the next guy-” Connor tried to jibe sharply but a practically merciless yank quieted his words on a biting hiss. “Jeez, at least take me to dinner first.” The man huffed irritably once the android’s grip had slackened a touch, rolling his eyes as if annoyed to be held at gunpoint - Hank wished he could tell the human the android that held him captive could sense his stuttering heart rate just as well as he could. 

The human hadn’t made it so far as washing the blood off his face, the crimson stain left dried and crusted across his cheeks to marr the perfect pale of his skin and a fresh bruise blossoming across his temple, that was most certainly not there when Hank had last seen the man, indicated that the detective had probably figured out the android wasn’t Hank before his attacker had meant him to. Connor was still wearing his dark trench coat, the coal material darkened with the wet marks of melted snow in more places than not but in his hands he clutched something else, the pitch black material twisted tightly between his fingertips as his nails drove into its unfortunate threads every time the android’s grip shifted or tightened. 

“That’s not what you said when I had my tongue behind your teeth.” The android teased cruelly, angling his head down for a moment to breathe the words heavily against Connor’s ear as his grip on the man’s hair only tightened at the stubborn snark. “I see why you like him,” The machine continued, drawing his eyes up to lock eyes with Hank who felt his hands tighten into angry fists at his side despite his best attempts at calmness. “Got a nice mouth on him.” The lookalike drawled sinisterly, keeping his gaze locked with Hank’s as he drew a thumb over Connor’s cheek and the human turned his head as much as he could within his captor’s merciless grip to escape the taunting touch.

“I thought you were him!” Connor protested hastily, the comment finally seeming to poke some holes in his brave facade as the human leaned away from the machine’s assaulting breath with a barely visible shudder, a look of harsh disgust streaking across his soft features, though if it was with his attacker or himself, Hank couldn’t quite distinguish. Either way, white hot anger surged through the deviant and the burning desire to rip his partner from his doppelganger’s sick hands simmered like fire in his wires, making it hard not to do something rash. The knowledge that Connor’s safety rested on his ability to remain calm and work through the situation was the only thing that kept the android in place.

“How-” Hank tried to question but never made it farther than that as his doppelganger cut in to silence him.

“You don’t really think, being Cyberlife’s most advanced model, that we wouldn’t have a way to tell when you were no longer under our control?” The machine demanded harshly, sneering distastefully at the deviant who glowered right back just as fiercely from across the room, running preconstruction after preconstruction to little avail. “You think we didn’t know about your little fling with Detective Disaster here?” The android snarled cruelly, pulling back on Connor’s hair to drag the man’s head back, shoving the muzzle of his gun into the column of the human’s throat as Detective Anderson’s Adam’s apple bobbed nervously against the metal and a low groan escaped the guy at the rough mistreatment.

“He’s not a fling.” Hank attested in a growl of a voice rough and low with simmering rage as every fiber in his mechanical body urged him to bury a fist down the lookalike’s throat and rip Connor from his cruel fingers. “And I was gonna ask how you found him.” The android corrected sharply, knowing full well Cyberlife couldn’t just search the human’s residence in the database or anything so careless as that. It would be traceable and far too risky. Aftercall, they couldn’t put their precious reputation at stake. What was the life of one human? Or the lives of an entire people for that matter?

“He was curled up with this.” The HK800 sneered coldly, cruel smile tugging at his lips as he snapped a hand down and ripped the thing Connor had been holding from the human’s fingertips, easily tearing it from the man’s hold despite the detective’s best efforts to draw it close and keep his fingers twisted into it. This again seemed to break Connor’s brave face as the human let out a miserable whine at having the thing taken and let himself tense a touch without his iron hold on the fabric to draw resilience from. 

The machine threw the dark bundle of cloth forward so that it fell between the standoff, skidding to a halt against the sleek shine of the floor to reveal a glowing blue hue not visible from it’s previous place in Connor’s hands, a small triangle on the breast and a large band around the arm bearing the color. The word “Android” could just be made out threaded into the back of the thing from where it lay twisted on the ground between the identical machines and Hank felt as if the thirium coursing through his components froze to liquid ice as his mistake dawned on him.

“It’s common knowledge that information on an android is stored in the Cyberlife logo so it can be scanned conveniently.” The HK800 began cynically, seeming disgustingly amused by the whole situation. “But it’s less widely known that a tracking device is programmed into it as well, just in case any property goes missing.” The android explained coldly, sending ice running through Hank’s veins as he came to realize what he’d done. In trying to keep Connor safe, he’d gone and painted a flashing bulls eye on the human. 

“I’m sorry, Connor. I-I didn’t know.“ Hank apologized in a wavering tone, unsure of how he could have fucked up so magnificently for the second time in what had to be only hours and even less sure how to get the human out of this now. 

“It’s fine.” Connor dismissed easily, struggling to tip his head enough to make eye contact with his companion from across the room. “Just, can you come over and hold me when you’ve taken care of this asshole?” The man asked, voice going from soft and serious to dry and absolutely dripping with snark on the last word as he turned his head an inch to the side to glare up at his captor. “I’ve always wanted to die in a hot guy’s arms.” The man added jovially, somehow mustering up the resilience to cast the robot a wry smirk with a gun pressed to his throat.

_ Connor thinks you’ll let him die. _ Hank’s programming informed simply, reminding the android that he really needed to turn off that command to “file away information about Detective Anderson” he’d had running in the background since he’d met the human in an effort to earn his trust and companionship - All in the name of a mission that the android could finally see as cold blooded murder standing back from it now. 

Hank stepped away from the android he’d been converting immediately, having not even truly realized he hadn’t moved yet in the overwhelming shock of the moment. The android held his hands up in a show of compliance as Connor’s coffee eyes widened in silent surprise and brimmed with some unreadable emotion Hank couldn’t put a name to but was certain he wanted to see there again as the attacking android watched the deviant’s movements carefully but visibly relaxed a bit, loosening his hold on the human’s hair and lowering his gun a fraction away from the man’s throat.

Just as he did, however, Connor abruptly sprung into action, grabbing the android’s arm and twisting it back in his attacker’s momentary neglect, forced to remain faced forwards with the machine’s hand still tightly clasped in his hair but reaching back with his arms nevertheless and forcing the muzzle of the gun into the HK800’s shoulder. The human got his finger over the trigger and pulled, sending the hunk of lead straight into the android’s shoulder with a deafening bang that left Hank’s audio processors ringing. 

The HK800 jolted back with a grunt of surprise, his shoulder being slammed backwards with the impact and sending the rest of his body stumbling after it. The android recovered nearly instantaneously, snarling more like a feral beast than a lifeless robot and slamming the human towards the ground with the grip he still held loosely in the man’s curling locks. Connor hit the floor with an unhealthy crack and a low groan but that didn’t stop him from slowly trying to push himself up on his elbows, dragging his breakable body up from the ground naught but a few inches before the android was back on top of him.

The machine moved with lifeless determination, a creature that could feel no pain and wanted nothing - Just as Hank himself had been naught but a few measly hours ago. The thing recocked the weapon with lightning speed and thrust the thing forwards to point at the human still on the floor at his feet with his finger over the trigger, sneering down at his fallen foe with a detached, cold look in his eyes that could be found only in a dead machine. Without so much as pausing to show any sign of conflict, the monster pulled the trigger.

But Hank had been running - And slammed his foot straight into his doppelganger’s chest the moment his finger moved, sending the machine to the ground and his weapon clattering uselessly from his grip and skidding across the floor. Every wire in the android's plastic frame ached with the need to check that Connor hadn’t been hit but his lookalike was on his feet in an instant, bringing is closed fist up in a sharp right hook as he went and slamming it into the underside of Hank’s chin before he even had a chance to register the shot. The HK800 threw another punch but the deviant caught this one and threw his doppelganger’s fist back in his own face. Hank smashed a closed knuckled hand straight into the machine’s temple, packing every ounce of rage he’d felt for the creature when he’d held his human captive and taunted him for falling for the monster’s sick facade into the blow and cracking the glowing circle of light there, leaving thirium to leak from his own fingers with the force of the hit. 

The false Hank stumbled back, the blow likely causing some damage to his internal calibrator and knocking him off course for a moment but he moved forward again an instant later, lunging forth with a feral snarl. He never made it to his doppelganger, however, as the sharp sound of a gun going off rang through the small room stilled both fighters in their tracks.

“Move and the next one will be through your skull!” Connor’s lilting voice was strained as he made the declaration, sharp with anger yet wavering with an undeniable hint of uncertainty as well. The man was standing a few paces away, gun in hand and trained towards where both HK800 model’s stood still and watching, neither moving a synthetic muscle. The detective’s hair was mussed and tangled from its earlier mistreatment and a small trail of fresh blood ran down over his temple from where he’d hit the floor but more importantly than that a fresh blossom of deep crimson was steadily seeping along his side, creeping quickly through the pristine white material of his undershirt to christen the pure color with the stain of death. Hank had the injury scanned and assessed in seconds - Finding it to be nonfatal but certainly a note for concern and a drive to get out of this fucking basement as blood loss would surely prove to be a risk if they delayed too awful long.

What the android hadn’t assessed it as, however, was opportunity. 

“Connor, you’re bleeding!” The false Hank gasped in a panic, faux concern dripping from every syllable as he let his gaze flick to the true Hank for a brief moment, likely to assess what the android he was miming would do before fixing the human with a worried stare. “Shoot him so I can get you to a hospital!” The machine pressed urgently, taking a step forward with his hands held out in a show of reaching for the man. 

“I said don’t move!” Connor snapped sharply, jolting at the approach and taking a step backwards to replace the distance that had been taken from him. “Like I already told you, I don’t wanna go to the hospital!” The man insisted angrily, growling a touch and snarling sharply at the impostor. Well, that was a good sign at least - Hank could build on that.

“That,” The android began but hesitated a moment, unsure if he should really go on with what he intended to say. “That’s where they told you your brother was…gone, right?” Hank finally got out, struggling to avoid the harsh word “dead” and still reluctant to really have this conversation at all. He’d done research on Niles Anderson and the details of his demise - though at the time he hadn’t been able to admit to himself why - but he’d never intended to throw the old wounds back in Connor’s face. “I won’t take you there.” The deviant promised gently, holding his hands up as if he were dealing with a feral animal but not daring to so much as take a step nearer, lest he trigger that same hostility currently focused on the thing that had stolen his face - And his human for that matter.

“I woke up thinking the worst thing I was gonna have to deal with that morning was the world's worst hangover.” Connor scoffed dryly, voice flat and biting. “Until I realized I was in the goddamn E.R. and the whole fucking thing came back.” The human drawled harshly, heart rate stuttering in the corner of Hank’s vision as he spoke but the man’s grip on his gun never wavered, cold metal not so much as shaking in his hands. 

“I knew that too!” The Hk800 cut in hastily, voice too sharp and too rushed to come off as smooth and Connor seemed to catch on, turning his gun to the fake and glaring suspiciously into his dead eyes. 

“My brother," Connor began slowly, voice audibly tightening. "What's his name?” Detective Anderson asked softly, tone carefully guarded and body tense as his face fit into a perfect picture of calm, mouth a straight line and eyes emotionless in his detached facade.

“Niles!” The double replied immediately, seemingly pleased with himself. “Niles Anderson, a year younger than you and the top of his class.” The HK800 attested confidently, only seeming to grow more proud by the moment - Yet he seemed to be missing the seemingly obvious fact that Connor made no move to shoot. 

Rather, the human looked over to Hank, a waiting look brimming in his coffee eyes - And something like trust flickering within his orbs, though it was restrained for the time being.

“But…” Hank began slowly, choosing his words carefully. “You called him Nines.” The android told hesitantly, though this response seemed to brighten the demure glint glowing in the human’s eyes so he kept going. “Because you couldn’t pronounce Niles when you were little.” The android continued, growing more certain with every word and digging into the depth of what he knew about humanity - What he  _ felt  _ and what he knew about the person who made him human. What made Connor human and thus Hank human as well.

“You blame yourself for his death.” Hank revealed slowly, his own thoughts becoming clearer and ringing truer in his own head the more he spoke as he watched Connor’s gaze fix on him, steady and trusting. “That’s why you smoke so much, and take too many pills. Why you don’t sleep, or eat.” The android continued, keeping his gaze fixed on Connor’s though now it wasn’t so much to gauge the man’s reaction as to simply let the human know he was there.  That he was close to him and would hold him together - Even if all he could hold now was his gaze.

“You think it should have been you.” Hank whispered softly, voice ringing clear through the quiet room and his own words sounding like truth on his tongue as much as he’d rather not believe them himself. 

Connor stood stiff and still for a long moment, body tense and unmoving until a slow shudder finally escaped him. “Do you remember I told you Kamski had tried shit on me before?” The man questioned waveringly, eyes going down to the floor and lower lip drawing between his teeth to be bitten softly as Hank simply offered a slow nod. He did remember. It was why Connor had believed Elijah would fall for his ploy when he’d gone undercover sometime later. He just didn’t see how it had anything to do with Niles Anderson.

“I was young and stupid.” Detective Anderson attested softly, voice choppy and even that single sentence breaking in places it shouldn’t. “So fucking stupid.” The man growled angrily, closing his eyes for a brief moment but he soon drew in a slow breath and resteadied himself. “There was this party and-” The man tried but ended up simply letting out a choked sort of gasp before he could actually explain anything about the event itself. “And Nines told me not to go. He told me!” The human explained in a sharp suck of air that the words were barely distinguishable from, his voice shaking and threatening to break. “But I didn’t want him to worry.” The detective continued slowly, drawing in a careful breath of air and letting it out gently to steady himself as he spoke. “I told him I wouldn’t go.” Connor told softly, a look of deep regret washing across his soft features as he shook his head a bit. “I told him I wouldn’t.” The man repeated quietly, talking as if to himself rather than either of the Hanks he held at gunpoint. 

“But Nines knew me better than that.” Detective Anderson explained softly, keen notes of fondness entering his tone despite the pain strangling his lilting voice, the wavering sounds butchered by emotion and their soft waves left trashed and mangled on the streets. “When I didn’t come home that night, he knew exactly where I was.” The human reminisced tentatively, voice shaking over the words until he steadied it once more. “He showed up, Elijah had me in his back office. He’d already tattooed this fucker into my skin.” The detective relayed flatly, shifting his arm so his sleeve fell back to reveal his tattoo, the inked number nine an eternal testament to what had been done to him.  “And let a few guys-” The detective groaned slowly, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. “I don’t even fucking know who. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t see. I don’t  _ know. _ ” The human rambled out  quickly, stringing the words all together in one single sentence before silencing the rant with a smothered grunt. “-Use my mouth.” The man relayed in a carefully detached tone but his body clearly shuddered even from where Hank stood, revulsion seeming to crawl across his skin itself. 

“Nines got me out of there before he could-” Connor began but then let his words die on a shiver, a small choked noise forcing its way up through his throat before he pushed himself onwards. “ _ Take  _ me.” The man finished unsteadily, looking like he very well may simply throw up right there in Cyberlife’s storage center if the breeze blew the slightest odd way and touched him wrong. “And I thought it was going to be over. It was supposed to be over.” The human insisted, his words biting and bitter. “But it  _ wasn’t _ . The roads were snowy, and it was New Years - All the drunk drivers were out. And then the headlights, and the  _ noise.”  _ The human groaned slowly and Hank knew the rest - Though now he could understand why Connor had been willing to risk everything going undercover to play victim to the same man who had (Hank didn’t want to think the word  _ raped  _ \- But it was there, screaming through his head) him. Kamski was to blame for Niles’ death. 

“My little brother is dead and it’s my fault.” Connor whispered softly, lilting voice quiet and wavering yet dead serious in its finality, no lie picking up Hank’s on readings - The man believed it.

“I knew that all too! I-” The lying HK800 insisted hastily but he got no farther than those few words as Connor silenced him with a single, unhesitating shot straight to the forehead, the man not so much as flinching as he pulled the trigger. The fake stood frozen for a moment, thirium leaking down from the head shot over his face in a thin stream until it caught in his synthetic lashes and pooled at his lips, staining his features luminescent blue. The machine’s limbs went stiff with deactivation soon after and his body crumpled to the ground where it fell with a weighty thud with only a single last jerk to speak for the brutal excuse for life that had once filled it.

Watching his own lookalike fall dead at the hands of his partner didn’t have much of an effect on Hank, the thing shared nothing with him but a face and all he felt for it was spite and disgust - Connor, on the other hand, did not seem to be taking things quite so well. 

The human let a gagged sort of choke escape him as his gun clattered uselessly to the floor at his feet, falling from trembling hands. The man’s coffee eyes fixed to the dead HK800, wide and disturbed, gaze locked to the still form of the broken android with absolute horror written across soft features. “I-” Connor stuttered out but never made it much farther as his voice fell away to let forth a strangled sob, and a hand flew up to cover his mouth as he stared on at the deactivated monster that bore his android’s face, the clear shine of unshed tears welling up in his eyes and threatening to spill over.

Hank was on the human in a second, wrapping big arms around the smaller man’s shaking frame and forcibly turning him away from the sight, blocking Connor’s view with his bulk and pulling the detective's head against his chest so there would be no chance of him seeing. The guy let his head fall against the android’s plastic frame, slumping lifelessly against the machine with a quiet sob and letting the tears welling in his eyes finally spill over unhindered, left to roll slowly down his cheeks in silent agony.

“It’s not your fault.” Hank whispered softly, unsure of what he could possibly say. “It’s not your fault, Connor.” The deviant repeated, dragging a large hand over the human’s soft hair to smooth it back, trying to convey the ultimate truth behind the words as he had believed in nothing stronger in his life. 

“When you got shot at Stratford Tower-” Connor began slowly, voice wet and a touch shaky as he drew up a hand and Hank snagged it from the air, squeezing the limb tightly within his own large palm. “You died for me. Another person I cared about was dead because of  _ me.” _ The human insisted in a raw, abused voice, lithe frame trembling in the android’s tight hold.

“It’s over now.” Hank soothed gently, turning the hand he held over to reveal the black number nine painted into the human’s pale skin there. “None of it is your fault.” The android promised softly, rubbing his thumb gently over the tattoo before pressing the pad of the digit into the abused flesh there. He’d never know Niles Anderson - But the boy had died protecting Connor and for that, Hank would be forever grateful. 

Somewhere in the crowd of androids, one turned its head to watch the show of humanity - And his LED cycled a slow yellow at what he saw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that didn't take as long as I thought it would :)


	37. Epilogue

Hank brushed his fingers lightly over the paper pasted across the thick wooden door, smoothing back the corner of the flyer where the cold November wind had torn it from its hold to flap noisily in the breeze - A breeze he could feel lashing harshly against his temperature sensors and blowing his synthetic hair so that his ponytail whipped wildly in the wind, letting him know this place was real. The android’s digits trailed across the words “Android’s Welcome” scrawled in a flowy print, handwritten and wavering in their imperfection and beneath that in three different colors, the subtitle “You Are Alive!” each word in a script that was nearly identical but just slightly different in a touch that was so subtle it would likely only be noticed by the machine. 

Letting his fingers fall away from the handcrafted sign, the android pushed open the door it was stuck to and let the near smothering smell of coffee and cigarette smoke wash over him as he entered the dimly lit room beyond and cast his gaze over the crowd until his searching eyes finally fell on what he was looking for. Hank went forward silently, weaving carefully through the crowd made up of a few people standing around the area, talking quietly among themselves so that only a few snippets and whispers of their hushed words drifted into the mechanical man’s audio processors as he moved through them.

“Did you hear that club owner got arrested?” A girl whispered eagerly to another woman leaned across the table to hear her hissed words.

“Yeah, I heard that guy was stupid enough to let an android go through some old footage and the thing recorded him drugging some kid.” The girl’s companion whispered back, sounding just as eager to play into the gossip and gesturing vaguely as she spoke, precariously tipping the mug of coffee she held as she moved her hand sporadically and letting a few drops slosh from the brim in her excitement.

“Dude!” The first girl snapped sharply, recoiling from her leaned in position to pull back from her friend. “You can’t call them things! They have rights now!” The woman hissed scoldingly, slowly leaning back in to continue her conversation but Hank had no interest in them or anyone else between him and his goal. 

The android approached the back corner of the room, a small, shadowy alcove he’d stood in once before, knowing that he would find what he was looking for there out of the crowd. A small circular table with tall bar stools set alongside it existed there and atop one a man sat, leaning against the table with his elbows propped into the oak and his head turned toward where a small television played nearby. The woman on screen was eagerly relaying a story about the events that had transpired the night before, telling of how a massive hoard of androids had poured forth from Cyberlife Tower and stood with the revolting deviants until the troops had been called. 

President Warren had announced that androids were a new life form.  

The man twirled a cigarette between his fingers as his coffee eyes stayed trained on the wavering images as they flickered over the screen, tapping the small roll of paper gently against the table and spinning it over his digits in an endless flurry of restless motion. His lithe fingers slid over the soft material of the cigarette as he toyed with it, coming to rest at the tip where he tapped the pad of his index finger against the top of the thing before flicking it back into his tormentous grip.

“Need a light?” Hank questioned abruptly, slipping a large hand into the depths of his pocket until his digits hit cold metal and he pulled the thing out, spinning it over his digits to flick open the top and bring forth a flame.

Connor startled a bit at the robot’s voice but recovered relatively quickly, turning towards the android with a pleased smile brushing gently across his features. The man’s chocolate orbs fell on the lighter clasped between the android’s fingers and softened a fraction, something warm flickering through his gaze as he drew his eyes up to meet Hank’s. “You fixed it.” The man noted warmly, voice quiet and a touch of disbelief flitting about his gentle tones as Hank shifted his weight to his other foot and offered a stiff nod,  finding himself de-armed by the human’s sincere reaction and uncertain he trusted his voice entirely at the moment. 

Connor leaned forward, cigarette clasped gently between his teeth and let the android bring the lighter forward until the flame licked the tip and the paper caught flame, sending a thin tendril of smoke swirling slowly up through the air. The human leaned back in his seat, drawing in a slow breath and holding it for a second, hands finally still as his fingers curled over the cigarette and rested gently against the curve of the thing. 

“But you know, Detective,” Hank began slowly, moving forward a step to crowd the human’s space as Connor merely raised an eyebrow and rotated himself to face the robot. “Smoking is a hazard to your health.” The android pointed out clinically, bringing a hand up to rest against the human’s thigh where the man had them spread to allow the machine room to stand between his legs.   

“Is that so?” Connor mused lightly, teasing smile tugging at the corner of his lips and he leaned forward until his face was inches from the android’s. The human took a slow drag on his cigarette and blew it out in a slow breath, holding the thing lightly between two fingers before sticking it back between his lips with a challenging smirk. Good thing Hank enjoyed a challenge.  

“Yes.” The android answered simply, the word short and undebatable as he suddenly shot out a quick hand and snagged the thing from between Connor’s teeth, yanking it from his lips before the human even had a chance to process the attack. Hank snapped the thing between his fingers before a protest could even form on Connor’s lips, flicking the broken ends into an ashtray left atop the table without so much as an apologetic glance, keeping a steady gaze locked with Connor’s horror stricken orbs during the whole heinous act. 

“Hank! Come onnn!” Connor practically whined, eyes wide and dumbstruck as he gaped disbelievingly at the robot. “You know I have to do something with my hands!” The man protested unhappily, soft features twisting into a truly disgruntled expression Hank didn’t know to label as a glare or a pout. 

The android glanced around momentarily before his gaze landed on a small pile of change likely leftover from when Connor had paid for his coffee, the mug of which still sat steaming near the money. “Try this.” The mechanical man suggested easily, snagging a silver quarter from the mess of scattered cash and pressing it into Connor’s hand, the cold gleam of the coin catching the dim light in the human’s pale hand. 

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Detective Anderson deadpanned flatly, rotating the quarter to clasp it between two fingers and bringing it up to his face for inspection with a look that spoke volumes of ‘not impressed.’ “Buy myself a new pack?” The human jested dryly, flicking the coin back to the robot who caught it from the air with mechanical ease. “You really gotta update your economics program; because clearly, you do not understand inflation rates, Robocop.” The detective snarked lightly, pulling a disgruntled face and crossing his arms over his chest, clearly waiting for an explanation. Hank might’ve thought the man was actually irritated had he not kept the human’s stats in the corner of his vision and known for a fact he was enjoying himself, Connor’s quickened heart rate betraying him no matter how good of an act the detective put on. 

Hank rolled his eyes at the dry comment and didn’t bother to reply, opting to simply show rather than tell. The android flicked the quarter up and allowed it to spin freely for a moment before he began his act, letting the metallic piece fall back into his grip where he flicked it skillfully from hand to hand, sending the thing shooting through the air between his fingers without so much as glancing at it. The android tossed the coin up an inch by letting it fall onto the tip of his index finger before jerking the digit upwards to let the quarter rest on the top of his hand where he rolled it easily across his knuckles, not fighting back the urge to let his lips tug into an amused smile as Connor’s coffee orbs fixed to the coin and his lips fell open in silent surprise, the human’s expression captured and awed as he got caught up in the display and was left ensnared by the intricate motions.  

His point proven, Hank danced the quarter back into the palm of his hand and tossed it once more to his opposite grip, catching the thing vertically between his pointer and middle finger before offering the hand out to Connor. The android let the thing drop into the detective's extended hand with an all too pleased smirk pulling at his mechanical lips and slowly curled the man’s fingers closed around the thing. 

“How the fuck..?” Connor muttered to himself, flicking the quarter experimentally from the middle of one hand only to scramble in an attempt to snag it from the air as it tried to fall to the floor below. “Alright then, since those million dollar processors clearly have everything figured out,” The man finally began once more, his words rising up on another snarky challenge as he shook his head at the quarter in his hand and slipped it into his back pocket. “What am I supposed to do with my mouth?” The man drawled demandingly, placing both hands on his thighs and leaning forward to stare up at the android with a sly smirk tugging at his lips, cocking his head to the side slightly and raising one eyebrow in what one could almost call invitation.  

“I’ll give you something to do with your mouth, Detective.” Hank promised, voice low and gravelly as he drew a hand up to cup the side of the man’s face, drawing the human up and encouraging him to tilt his head with a firm but guiding grip. The android watched, fascinated, as Connor’s coffee eyes fluttered shut, deep orbs, dark and dilated, locking with his own until they finally disappeared under long lashes and Hank closed the distance between them, pressing rough lips to the human’s feather soft ones and moving against the man as the contact drew a soft shudder of a breath from his partner that the android swallowed hungrily and dove in in search of more. The deviant kept his hand pressed tight against the side of Connor’s head as he slipped the tip of his tongue between the human’s willingly parted lips, drawing the limb up to drag his thumb along the side of the man’s cheek as the action elicited another delicious noise from the detective that Hank licked from his mouth and drew into his core memory to replay forever.  

Connor’s hands found the back of Hank’s shirt, fingers twisting into course material as he compliantly tilted his head and tipped his neck back a fraction to allow the android better access that the machine didn’t hesitate to take, licking his way deeper into the sweetness of the human’s mouth. Analysis recordings blinked into Hank’s field of vision, warning him of an unknown substance on his oral analysis equipment, but Connor released a breathy moan at the attack so the android had no intention of relenting. Caffeine. Nicotine. Human saliva. Connor. _Connor. Connor._ _Connor._

When Hank finally forced himself to remember that he was in love with a human and that human’s needed to breathe, he drew back only an inch, keeping his hand against Connor’s face and running his thumb gently across the man’s reddened lips, the things slightly swollen from the attention and left parted in disheveled disarray. As the android met Connor’s half lidded eyes from under his dark lashes, a small notification glowed into existence at the edge of his vision –  _ Connor Anderson: Partner [Path Unlocked] _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! I can't believe it's actually finished! Thank you everyone who stuck with me and who gave me such amazing support throughout - You all are the reason I stuck it out to the end :)

**Author's Note:**

> I've officially hopped on the Reverse AU bandwagon and there's no getting off now... Hope you all enjoy this hell ride as much as I do!
> 
> Kudos and comments are always greatly appreciated :)
> 
> Also on Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/612490234-partners-path-unlocked-%F0%9F%94%93-chapter-1-hindrance  
> If you could hop over there and vote on the individual chapters, it would mean a lot to me <3


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